Flashback
by Armadilloi
Summary: Read by 2/28. It will be deleted.
1. Killer Dreams

Flashback1

_A/N: OK, no one tell my ocular antagonist and I'll post mini-chapters to comply with medical edicts. Note the disparity between dates. It's important. I'll try and post one chapter a day assuming no one narcs on me.  
_

Oh, yeah. I don't own the characters unless it's one of my demented ladies out to maim your hero, then it's definitely mine.

_Still blocked on GEG but having whispers of inspiration from the daily news._

_Armor-Plated-Rat_

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**Flashback**

People have bad dreams all the time. Sometimes they cry, sometimes they call out. but most times they simply continue sleeping, the dream forgotten. But not soldiers and, sometimes, not spies. Sometimes they dream of real yesterdays with devastating consequences for today's loved ones.  


* * *

They had been married less than 4 months, happy months, satisfying months. She had the man she always dreamed of, and the future she could only have imagined. He was in love with and married to the most beautiful woman in the world and he was constantly amazed each morning when he awoke and found her curled up against him, a secret smile on her lips. It was not a dream. She was there. It was real.

She had badgered cajoled, threatened and finally begged to be allowed to marry her asset, explaining that no one could better control and protect the asset than the woman who loved him. Being 'compromised' was not a bad thing when the pros and cons were measured and balanced.

The Powers That Be took it under advisement and finally agreed, provided she clearly understood the nature of her commitment. It was for the long haul, a life sentence without the possibility of parole. She'd laughed at her boss when he told her that. He'd smiled, enjoying her happiness.

Professionally, the asset had finally settled down and began pursuing his passion for security software development and occasionally providing assistance to the various government agencies who'd invested countless money in the development of the intersect. At least once a week (not counting the intel daily reviews) and sometimes more often, he was called upon to perform his 'other job'. He did so gladly because he knew it ensured his ultimate happiness.

She continued pursuing her passion – loving him, supporting his efforts, controlling his tendencies towards spontaneity on his other job and protecting him and keeping him safe. Being loved by him was the source of her passion.

Her partner tolerated the arrangement because he had no choice in the matter although secretly he was tickled pink. No more listening to tapes of him snoring, girly weeping when things went bad between them or his love-sick mutterings. The asset was performing much better in operations, not putting himself in precarious positions or ignoring his handlers. A happy asset was a productive asset and their string of unbroken victories attested to it.

The fact that they both had quit the BuyMore and were working with the new start-up was icing on the cake. More time for maiming bonsais and watching the History Channel. He hated to admit it, but he was becoming friends with the asset, something he would never have considered possible. The Nerd just grew on you, like a benign fungus.  


* * *

**Langley, Virginia  
CIA Clinic  
July 23**

**Transcription of counseling session #1. Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski.**

"_Mrs. Bartowski, do you know why you're here?"_

_"It's Walker. I'm Sarah Walker, CIA. Agent Sarah Walker, CIA. That's what I am, that's who I am. Sarah Bartowski…Sarah Bartowski is no more."_

"_Fine, Ms. Walker, do you know why you're here?"_

"_Mandatory counseling. Whenever an agent has a problem the Agency wishes to make go away, they send the agent to mandatory counseling for disposition."_

"_Well, yes, that's true, but in this case, the Agency wants the problem solved and you returned to your assignment and your family in Los Angeles. It has every hope that these sessions will enable you to deal with your issues and…"_

"_Issues? __**Issues?**__ I killed my husband, Doctor. He died. I'm here because I killed my husband. It doesn't matter that I was asleep. It doesn't matter that I was having a flashback. No. What matters, asshole, is that I killed my husband."_

"_Ms. Walker, please calm down. We have much to discuss before you will be able to…"_

"_I should be in prison, not a hospital. I killed my husband. I killed the only man I ever really loved. I killed him. He died. I'm done talking. Have the guard 'escort' me back to my cell. I'm done talking to you. You have the facts, do what's expected of you. Sign the damned papers and move on to the next shattered agent. I'm sure your calendar is full of us."_

_End Session #1 Transcription  


* * *

_**Burbank, CA  
July 15**

John Casey was awakened by the ringing of his cell phone. Checking the ID he saw 'Sarah Bartowski' and immediately took the call noting that it was 3:41 in the morning.

"Casey, secure."

"Casey, come quick. I – I – I think I've killed Chuck, Casey. Oh, Casey, there's so much blood…"

He hung up, dragged on pants and a shirt and was out the door, barefoot, and crossing the courtyard within 2 minutes.

Sarah and Chuck took a sublet on Casa Bartowski after Devon and Ellie married and moved to LA so they could be closer to Devon's new practice and Ellie's clinic.

The CIA took up the lease payments and the newlyweds began turning the apartment into their home. Just that morning John had helped Chuck carry in a new sofa and love seat Sarah 'just had to have'.

Running across the courtyard, he called the local NSA installation and requested an ambulance and clean up team. He didn't know quite what to expect but he knew it had to be bad since Sarah Walker Bartowski was the consummate professional, an assassin who never, ever, panicked. Never, ever.

But she had.

_A/N: Curious to read the reactions from the Charah crowd. Bwahahaha… 'there's so much blood'_


	2. Broken Dreams

Flashback2

**A/N: Note that the dates of the counseling sessions and the hospital vignettes are not contemporaneous. That means they don't happen at the same time if you're 'vocabularily challenged'. Gotta love Pcspeak. God forbid someone should consult a dictionary.**

**Sorry for the brevity but Nurse Ratchett shut me down earlier than planned.**

**Armor-Plated-Rat  


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**Langley, Virginia**  
**CIA Clinic  
July 29**

Transcription of counseling session #7 – Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski

_"Ms. Walker, you have not uttered a single word during the past 5 sessions. If you have no intention of speaking with me about your 'issues', what do you suggest we do with you?"_

"_Restore me to duty. I'm fine. I'm no longer married and the issue has been dealt with by annulment. If he hadn't been in the operating room at the very moment he flat-lined, he would have been dead for certain. So, quit splitting hairs. He's probably out of the hospital and back at work. He's safe. He will not be exposed to another attack. He's safe."_

"_I can't do that, Ms. Walker. Not until you confront the issues that brought you to this place and time. Until we resolve this, you will remain right where you are. You are not fit for duty and would pose a risk to any operation or personnel to which you were assigned."_

"_Fine. What will it take to get me restored to duty? I'll do anything. I need to function again. I need to be active and in the field, not rotting in a nut house waiting for the 2__nd__ Coming. As you can see, I'm not wearing any underwear…"_

"_Ms. Walker, put your hospital gown back on and return to your seat. I have no doubt that your considerable charms are an asset on operations but do you really think such actions are appropriate for a married woman? You took marriage vows. Are your commitments so shallow and transient?"_

"_You don't know what you're missing, doctor. I can make you forget your own name and all you have to do is sign off on my fitness report. I'll be yours to do with as you please until my assignment comes through. Imagine the things we could do…your every fantasy fulfilled…mmmmm."_

"_I'd rather talk about your husband. Why don't you ever refer to Chuck by name? Why is it always 'my husband' and never 'Chuck'? Is that so you can distance yourself from the mark you married for the greater good?'_

"_I have nothing more to say. I've filed for an annulment. I don't have a husband any longer. I killed him."_

"_And yet he's very much alive although the outcome is still in doubt. He's listed in critical condition according to the latest reports so he's neither 'safe' nor back to work. His life remains in danger, but he's far from dead, no matter how many times you say it"._

"_I told you before, I killed my husband. Are you deaf? Are you an idiot? I killed him. He died. And if I …No more. Take me back to my room. I'm done talking with you about this. He's better off now. I killed him but the doctors saved him. He's got a new life, a better, safer life now. Please, I'm done talking about this."_

End Transcription  


* * *

**Casa Bartowski  
Burbank, CA  
July 15 3:44am**

Casey used his key to the apartment and ran back to the master bedroom. He stopped at the door and drew his service pistol and pointed it at his partner.

He dialed the NSA equivalent of 911 again. "Where are you guys? I need you now. Move it. Asset down." He hung up and went around the bed to check on Chuck. He did not take his pistol sights off his partner.

"Oh God, Sarah…" John Casey felt a frisson of fear. So much blood. He put his fingers to Chuck's neck and felt a weak pulse. He was having difficulty breathing and each exhalation brought with it a tiny bubbling of blood from his mouth.

He did a quick assessment of the naked man lying before him. Punctured lung, possibly both from the looks of bruising on the rib cage. Broken nose, cheek bone and possibly the jaw. His skull looked slightly lopsided and he was mercifully unconscious.

He heard the siren in the distance and knew expert medical attention was just a few minutes away. That was good because he had no idea what to do. Not really.

He looked at his partner sitting on the floor in the corner of the bedroom still holding the cell phone and trembling uncontrollably.

"Sarah, Sarah, you have to get up and get some clothes on. Please. You can't go to the hospital with Chuck naked. He wouldn't want that. Please, put on some clothes."

She stared at him for a few seconds and then mechanically proceeded to her dresser and selected items of clothing. She went to the bathroom, dressed, brushed her hair and was back in the bedroom within a few minutes.

The NSA paramedics piled into the bedroom and began to work on Chuck. Casey took Sarah by the arm and led her out into the living room and sat her down on the couch. Had it only been this morning he and Chuck had muscled it into the apartment?

"Sarah, I have to know what happened? What happened? What can you remember?"

"I woke up and I was covered in blood and he was gasping for breath. Oh, God, Casey. He's going to die and I killed him. I killed my husband. I – I – I was dreaming about Bosnia and…and…I killed him, Casey. I had a damned flashback and I killed my husband."  


* * *

A/N: OK, so I lied. He's alive – for now…

Small chapters because I can only stand this monitor for short periods of time. Live with it.

APR


	3. Dreams of Denial

Flashback3

**_A/N: Interest appears to be waning for this fic. I guess the cat's out of the bag and interest has flagged. So does my interest in writing. I want to know if it's believable, if it has the ring of truth to it. Forget canon. Is it a believable situation for the characters to find themselves in?_**

**_TTFN_**

_Armor-Plated-Rat  


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**Langley, Virginia  
CIA Clinic  
July 29**

Transcription of counseling session #7 – Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski

_"Ms. Walker, you have not uttered a single word during the past 5 sessions. If you have no intention of speaking with me about your 'issues', what do you suggest we do with you?"_

"_Restore me to duty. I'm fine. I'm no longer married and the issue has been dealt with by annulment. If he hadn't been in the operating room at the very moment he flat-lined, he would have been dead for certain. So, quit splitting hairs. He's probably out of the hospital and back at work. He's safe. He will not be exposed to another attack. He's safe."_

"_I can't do that, Ms. Walker. Not until you confront the issues that brought you to this place and time. Until we resolve this, you will remain right where you are. You are not fit for duty and would pose a risk to any operation or personnel to which you were assigned."_

"_Fine. What will it take to get me restored to duty? I'll do anything. I need to function again. I need to be active and in the field, not rotting in a nut house waiting for the 2__nd__ Coming. As you can see, I'm not wearing any underwear…"_

"_Ms. Walker, put your hospital gown back on and return to your seat. I have no doubt that your considerable charms are an asset on operations but do you really think such actions are appropriate for a married woman? You took marriage vows. Are your commitments so shallow and transient?"_

"_You don't know what you're missing, doctor. I can make you forget your own name and all you have to do is sign off on my fitness report. I'll be yours to do with as you please until my assignment comes through. Imagine the things we could do…your every fantasy fulfilled…mmmmm."_

"_I see you're a master at avoiding issues like commitment. Anyway, I'd rather talk about your husband. Why don't you ever refer to Chuck by name? Why is it always 'my husband' and never 'Chuck'? Is that so you can distance yourself from the mark you married for the greater good?'_

"_I have nothing more to say. I've filed for an annulment. I don't have a husband any longer. I killed him."_

"_And yet he's very much alive although the outcome is still in doubt. He's listed in critical condition according to the latest reports so he's neither 'safe' nor back to work. His life remains in danger, but he's far from dead, no matter how many times you say it – or wish it to be so."_

"_I told you before, I killed my husband. Are you deaf? Are you an idiot? I killed him. He died. And if I – I lov …No more. Take me back to my room. I'm done talking with you about this. He's better off now. I killed him but the doctors saved him. He's got a new life, a better, safer life now. Please, I'm done talking about this."_

End Transcription  


* * *

_Langley, Virginia  
CIA Clinic  
July 30_

Transcription of counseling session #9 – Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski

_Mrs. Bartowski, your request for reassignment has been denied. You agreed to your current assignment in exchange for other considerations. When therapy has been successfully concluded you will return to your assignment and resume your duties. Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Mrs. Bartowski?_

"_No, __I don't__ understand. I have nothing to go back to. I'm an agent; I'm Sarah Walker, CIA, not a damned baby sitter and besides, my asset is dead. I killed him. I killed my husband."_

"_He's alive. Not in the best of shape, to be honest, but he's still alive."_

"_Then assign him another handler, one who doesn't have 'baggage' and won't wake up in the middle of the night covered in his blood. I won't do it. And you can't make me."_

"_Mrs. Bartowski, did you even love your husband a little? You requested the marriage, maintained it was 'real' and now you refuse to return to him. Why not? Answer my questions and we'll see about possibly allowing you to speak with him by phone. Wouldn't you like that, Mrs. Bartowski?"_

"_I filed the paperwork for an annulment. I'm no longer Mrs. Sarah Bartowski. I'm who I was always meant to be: Agent Sarah Walker. Why can't you accept that? Answer my question and maybe I'll answer one of yours. Quid pro quo, doctor."_

"_Oh, you mean this paperwork? It never left this office, Mrs. Bartowski. And it never will."_

_[Sounds of scuffling and an alarm…session terminated.] _

End Session Transcription  


* * *

**Cedars-Sinai Hospital  
Surgical Waiting Room  
Burbank, CA  
July 15 5:30am**

"Graham, secure."

"Major John Casey, secure. Director Graham, Chuck Bartowski is in surgery. He was attacked in his home at approximately 3:40 this morning. He is currently in surgery and the prognosis is not good."

"What? How? Where the hell was Sarah, John? Was she injured in the attack?" Graham was sending an email to his assistant to have a plane ready immediately to fly him to Burbank.

"Um, well, Director, Sarah _was_ the attacker." He related events exactly as they occurred as well as the conversation between him and Sarah Bartowski, leaving nothing out. He also gave Graham a run-down of the injuries Chuck had suffered.

"Major Casey, please take Mrs. Bartowski into protective custody. I'm flying out immediately and will want to interview her. I'll be bringing her back for mandatory counseling as soon as we have a final resolution out there."

"Director, is that really necessary? She's in shock and his sister is with her and I'll be right here. Please don't rush to judgment until we can talk to her when he's out of surgery. It's been more than two hours and, well, shit, he flat-lined in the ambulance and coded in the O.R. She needs to be here, Director, for her sake if nothing else, in case he doesn't make it."

"Fine, but you're on her like white on rice, understand?"  


* * *

**Langley, Virginia  
CIA Clinic  
August 3**

Transcription of counseling session #10 – Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski

_"Good morning, Mrs. Bartowski. I'm Dr. Phyllis Foster and I'm your new therapist. Before we go any further, I'd like to demonstrate the purpose of the collar around your neck."_

**_[Sounds of a body hitting the floor. 6 minutes transpire before the session continues]_**

"_As you can see, I do not plan to make the same mistake my predecessor made. Also, I'm not a lesbian so it will do you no good to try the seduction routine on me. Now, we're going to start with some questions and you're going to give me answers. If I don't like the answers, I'll give you a little warning. If I believe the answers, you'll be rewarded. Understand me, Mrs. Bartowski?"_

"_It's Agent Walker, Dr. Foster not Mrs. Bar…urk."_

"_I didn't like that answer at all, Mrs. Bartowski. Not at all. By the way, that was the lowest setting. There are 9 in all. Too bad for you that I don't repeat settings, only escalate them. Do you understand, Mrs. Bartowski? That was a 'warning', by the way."_

"_Yes. But I intend to file for an annulment the very instant I'm free. Your, what did you call him, your 'predecessor', he failed to file it as required. That's why you're here."_

"_Any such filing will be 'lost', Mrs. Bartowski. You agreed to a long-term assignment. You will keep your word. There will be no annulment, divorce, bug-out, whatever else your pathetic little mind can envision. No parole, remember? You got what you asked for and now you must pay for it as agreed."_

"_Now, back to the questions. Why don't you refer to your husband by name?"_

"_Because he's dead. I killed him. I murdered him in his sleep. He didn't do anything wrong. He touched me, he caressed me in his sleep while I was dreaming, I guess, and it triggered a full-blown flashback. I – I – I guess I don't want to remember him as I last saw him and 'my husband' is a convenient title."_

"_So, you're ashamed of him? Is there something wrong with him? Can't perform his 'husbandly duties' perhaps? Did sleeping with the mark finally reach a point you could no longer tolerate his touch…did it disgust you, revolt you?"_

**_[Two minutes of silence before session continues. Then sounds of panting and gasping.]_**

"_That was setting #3. Please remain in your chair unless you wish to be secured to it. Moving right along, that was not an acceptable answer, Mrs. Bartowski. In fact, it was no answer at all. Is a violent physical response your standard solution for any frustrating situation? Now, answer my question. Were you ashamed of him? Was he…defective? Were you frustrated by his inabilities?"_

"_My husband was a kind, considerate and gentle lover more concerned with my satisfaction than his own. He took me to levels of pleasure I'd never been before, gave me feelings I'd never felt before. He was…incredibly talented. Let's leave it at that unless you want to satisfy yourself with length and thickness parameters?"_

"_No, that won't be necessary. What were the details of your flashback? It is vital to your recovery that you be honest with me. You won't be able to see Chuck or speak with him until we discuss your flashback. What mission did you flashback on? And my security rating is considerably higher than yours, Mrs. Bartowski."_

"_I don't want to see or speak with him, Doctor Foster. I have no desire to renew my relationship with him."_

"_Why do you hate your husband so much that you refuse to even acknowledge him by name?"_

"_I didn't hate him. I – I – It's complicated. You wouldn't understand. You couldn't possibly understand. You have no point of reference, Doctor. Unless you've been there, you couldn't possibly understand. I didn't hate him, really, I didn't. I loved him as I have no other man, ever."_

"_You're using the wrong tense, Mrs. Bartowski. He's still very much alive. Bruised and battered, but alive. So, what I'm hearing is that you loved him, past tense, but don't love him now? When he 'died' in the ambulance and again in the operating room you suddenly quit loving him?"_

"_I never quit loving him."_

"_Then why won't you say his name? Why won't you acknowledge that he's alive? Why won't you…"_

"_Please, no more. I want to go back to my room. I've got nothing else to say."_

"_Fine, Mrs. Bartowski, that's enough for today but I have a homework assignment for you. I want you to write out for me all the reasons you loved your husband. It should help fill the time until our next session."_

"_How many more sessions are there? I want to get back to field work. I'm wasted here. Can't you see that?"_

"_Yes, you are wasting valuable time being here. Time you could spend with your husband. Time you could spend repairing the damage done to your marriage by what has occurred. You're not at fault for what happened in your bedroom but you are at fault for what's happening here and now. I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Bartowski. Use your time wisely."_

_[Session terminated]  


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**Cedars-Sinai Hospital  
Surgical Waiting Room  
Burbank, CA  
July 15 5:45am**

"Sarah, please, sweetie, please tell me what happened to Chuck?" Dr. Ellie Bartowski Woodcomb sat down beside her sister-in-law. She knew Sarah was on the verge of collapse and wanted her to focus on something concrete. John Casey called her at 5:00 in the morning asking her to please come to Cedars-Sinai and be with Sarah while Chuck was in surgery.

"I killed him, Ellie. I killed my husband. I didn't mean it, Ellie. I loved him more than life itself. I don't know exactly what happened, honest. I just woke up and I was covered in blood, his blood. Oh, God, Ellie, what am I going to do without him?" She was sobbing and Ellie wasn't sure she understood what she'd said to her.

"Sarah, you couldn't have done such a terrible thing. Not you. I know you and you love my brother without reservation. Please, tell me what happened, Sarah. There's no way you could have done that much damage with your hands."

Ellie had seen the admissions summary filled out by the EMTs and had been appalled. It sounded as if someone had taken a baseball bat to her brother while he slept.

She squeezed Sarah's hand in hers waiting until she'd calmed down enough to answer her questions. She noticed bruising on the knuckles but it really didn't register – not at that time.

Sarah looked down at her hands noting that blood was trapped under her nails and along the cuticles. "Ellie, I need to wash my hands. His blood – please? Please come with me, please. I don't want to be alone. I'll be alone for the rest of my life but not for a little while. Not until I know he's out of surgery and out of danger. What am I going to do, Ellie? He's all I ever wanted. He's all I have! What am I going to do?" She began weeping silently, sodden tissues pressed to her eyes. Those tears would soon fill a river of denial.

End Flashback3


	4. Perchance to Dream

Flashback4

_A/N: Maybe this chapter will explain some of our Blonde's reactions and responses to 'therapy'. _

_Armor-Plated-Rat  


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**Cedars-Sinai Hospital  
Surgical Waiting Room  
Burbank, CA  
July 15 9:50am**

A nurse paged Sarah and when she rose to walk to the nurses' station John Casey intercepted her whispering "Director Graham is coming in to interview us, you need to get your story straight, partner. I'll be with you the whole time. Ellie's here if you need her but you'll need to make some excuse to speak with Graham without her."

She looked at him, her eyes swollen from crying, and just nodded. Together they walked to the nurses' station.

"You paged me?" The nurse saw a broken and desolate young woman who was trying to hold off totally falling apart.

"Yes, the surgeons are finished, the patient, umm, Charles Bartowski, is in recovery and should be transferred to ICU within the hour. You can meet with the chief surgeon as soon as he cleans up. Please follow me."

John motioned Ellie to join them and they followed the nurse to a private conference room. Ellie knew from her surgical rotations that loved ones were given 'bad news' in this setting rather than the good news that was imparted in the waiting room.

"Ellie, the nurse said Chuck's in recovery and will be transferred to ICU in an hour. I guess the doc will tell us the same thing, huh?" Casey was as curious about procedure as he was about Chuck's health. Even though they were in an 'approved' facility, he still had an asset to protect. He made a mental note to discuss bringing Ellie Bartowski 'into the fold' with Director Graham. It would help assuage her fears when she saw burly men sitting around or outside Chuck's room.

Sarah sat at the table staring at the patterns, not thinking about anything but her bleak future. She had killed her husband. He had flat-lined in the ambulance. Her beloved, the man she'd given up so much for in exchange for so much more, had died at the hands of his wife. She remembered something he'd said during the attack but it was lost as soon as she'd thought it.

The sanctioned physician and another doctor came into the conference room in clean scrubs. Ellie caught the coppery odor of blood and realized that the surgeons had 'cleaned up' their surgical smocks in order to spare the patient's family…they'd forgotten their blood-soaked booties worn to prevent static electricity build-up in an oxygenated environment.

"Mrs. Bartowski, your husband is in recovery and will be moved to ICU once certain stats are stable and he can be moved again. I'll try to be as thorough as possible in my explanation but if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to interrupt."

No one said anything. Ellie noticed Sarah's knuckles again.

"The surgery went very well. We were able to restore integrity to both lungs, remove the ruptured spleen and repair the tears in the diaphragm as well as a small – a very small – tear in the pericardial sac. He's on a ventilator, has all kinds of nasty-looking drains and shunts running from him but those are normal for these kinds of injuries. That's the good news. He's stable and should recover physically. He coded on the table once, and for those injuries, it was totally expected and we were prepared. He lost blood and it's being replaced as we speak. He'll be transferred to ICU once the transfusions are completed."

All eyes were now on the other surgeon.

"He presented with a depressed skull fracture. We bored holes to relieve the pressure and installed a temporary shunt to preclude a build up of fluids. Cranial pressures were extremely erratic during surgery and he'll be in an induced coma for at least 3 days. We'll evaluate his overall physical condition at that time and decide whether to end the coma or continue for another 3 days or so."

"We won't have any idea of the extent of damage to his cognitive processes until he's awake and alert. I don't expect that to be for at least a week. I may be wrong but I also see a very favorable outcome."

"His face took a real beating. We repaired the broken nose and broken cheekbone with minimal incisions required, his jaw was fractured but not displaced so we lucked out there. We sutured the lacerations to his lips and eyebrow. Once the swelling goes down we'll reevaluate the need for any additional surgery. There will be some scarring which can be addressed with cosmetic surgery if desired, but that's a long-term decision. You can also expect an ophthalmic consult within the week once he's awake and can respond to questions."

Ellie had questions and once they knew she was a doctor the answers were a lot more informative and condemning.

"Doctor Bartowski, whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing. Any two of his injuries, excepting the lacerations and broken nose, would have been fatal. There is no doubt in my mind that the intent of this attack was to disable and then kill our patient."

After the doctors left, Ellie got up and followed them.

"Excuse me, but I have another question I didn't want to ask in front of those two. Could – could a woman have done this? A small woman? I mean when I read in the admissions summary I would have thought a blunt instrument would have had to have been used."

"Well, no, I don't think a small woman could do that – not unless she were a trained martial arts student. The blows that caused those injuries were precise, very precise. A highly trained person such as yourself or his wife might have been able to inflict such damage but the rage required would have been incredible."  


* * *

**Langley, Virginia  
CIA Clinic  
August 2**

Transcription of counseling session #11 – Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski

_"Good morning, Mrs. Bartowski. I see you've brought your notebook with your 'home work'. Let's begin today with an update on your husband Chuck's current medical condition, shall we?"_

"_I don't really need to know that, doctor. He's not longer my concern."_

"_You're right, Mrs. Bartowski, he's beyond your concern now. He died last night from complications during emergency surgery to repair a cranial bleed caused by a skull fracture. How does that make you feel, Mrs. Bartowski?"_

"_Ch – Chu – Chuck's dead? No, no, he can't be."_

"_You haven't answered my question, Mrs. Bartowski. How does that make you feel? Sad, that the man who meant so much to you is dead? Relieved that you no longer have to feel responsible for him? Happy? Delighted? Answer my question, Mrs. Bartowski. How does that make you feel?"_

"_Oh, please, Mrs. Bartowski. Tears? Really. You __**are**__ well-trained. Tears on command in accordance with expectations. Bravo. Now turn off the water works, Mrs. Bartowski, and answer my question. How does that make you feel?"_

_[Seven minutes of quiet weeping, interrupted several times by therapist but continuing.]_

"_I'll ask you again, Mrs. Bartowski, how does that make you feel?"_

"_Hollow, like all I am has been sucked out leaving this…this shell."_

"_Ah, hollow. Ready and waiting to be 'refilled' for your next mission. So they just fill you up with a customized personality and send you back into the fray, right? Isn't that what they did with you when you were assigned to the mark in Burbank? Isn't it, Mrs. Bartowski?"_

"_He wasn't a mark. Not to me. Not after the first time I saw his face, looked into his eyes. He was never a mark after that. He was always…Chuck."_

"_I think that's enough for today, Ms. Walker. Please leave the notebook and I'll dispose of it. After all, what's in there, what you thought, well, that no longer matters or is of any concern, is it?"_

"_Wait. You called me 'Ms. Walker'. Why the change?"_

"_I guess I'm just readying you for your next fill-up. I think 'Mrs. Bartowski' is irrelevant and certainly inappropriate, don't you, Ms. Walker? The mark is dead. Time to move on, isn't it?"_

"_Ms. Walker, I told you to leave the notebook for disposal. It's no longer needed and I'm sure you'd rather not have anyone actually discover anything like true feelings or emotions in a field agent. Just leave it on your chair and I'll have the janitor throw it away or burn it."_

"_No. Please. I think I'd like to keep it. It's the only proof I have."_

"_Proof of what, Ms. Walker? Proof of your prowess as a seductress, as a handler, as a committed agent, an assassin?"_

"_No. Proof that once I had it all."_

"_Leave it. No one cares about your mark any longer. Certainly not you, anyway. The Agency will find you another mark to love and then another and another. It's what they do with people like you. People who can't or won't commit. Now, leave the notebook for burning. Protocol demands it." _

[Session terminated]  


* * *

Appendix A – Exhibit 1 -Patient notebook Session 11

_I cannot remember a time when I didn't love my husband. The first time I saw his face, looked into his eyes, I loved him. From his Agency profile I knew he was immature, needy, and insecure with rampant fears of abandonment. They prepped me for it, recommended 'attitude modes', taught me responses to either bolster his dependence on me or hold him at bay. They were so wrong. Their profilers definitely missed the mark._

_My husband had a strength of character like no one I had ever known, certainly not my father and definitely not my ex-partner and what? Lover? Bryce Larkin ever had. Yes, he was needy, but his needs were to fulfill his obligations to those he loved. It took me a long time to realize that. _

_Immature? No way. He just loved to have fun. He played video games to relieve tension and as an excuse to spend time with his life-long friend, Morgan, who __**was**__ immature. My husband looked out for him, gave him advice and guidance in the form of example or subtle hints clothed in humor. He loved his friends and they loved him. And I loved him for it._

_Did he have abandonment issues? Yes. Huge ones. He struggled every day to overcome his fear and every time he made progress one of 'us girls' would undermine it. His mother left him on Mother's Day for Christ's sake, Mother's Day. What kind of woman would leave her children on Mother's Day? _

_And then his father left. _

_And then his best friend accused him of cheating at Stanford and everyone he knew abandoned him then rather than be tainted with his shame. He was innocent but it didn't matter. Not one bit. His best friend was Bryce Larkin who later became my partner and fuck-buddy, but not before he screwed my husband's fiancé and made sure he knew it. She left him, of course._

_I'm sure there were other, less important betrayals, but those were the ones that shaped his character. _

_And then I came along. While I was busy trying to seduce the mark to better control him, he was ignoring my efforts and working a very effective but unconscious seduction plan of his own. Where mine failed, his succeeded. I fell in love with the mark, the asset, the man I would soon marry and be incredibly happy with. And then I would kill him._

_I killed my husband, my only true love. The fact that he's still alive is immaterial. I could never return to him knowing that the next time I might do a better job. That the next time he might not be so lucky. That the next time, well you get the idea, Doctor Foster. I'm afraid to acknowledge my husband because the next time I might kill him._

_And now I've left him, abandoned him. _

_So I guess the CIA profilers were correct in that respect, just as my husband was right in his fears. Everyone left him, eventually. Everyone._

End Journal Transcript  


* * *

**Cedars-Sinai HospitalConference Room  
Burbank, CA  
July 15 11:30am**

The conference room was reserved – one of the many advantages of using an NSA/CIA approved facility.

John Casey had escorted Ellie Bartowski into the room, introduced her to Director Arthur Graham and left to continue his 'white on rice' of Sarah Bartowski. She hadn't moved since the doctors had completed their briefing.

"Come on, Sarah, let's go find out what variety of sludge this place calls coffee. I could use a cup and I know you could."

Arthur Graham knew what needed to be said and so he said it.

"Dr. Bartowski, your brother is an employee of the CIA and NSA and performs vital services for his country. That being said, you need to review and sign these 3 documents before I can brief you in on the entire story."

Ellie signed all three documents without reading them. She had to know if what she suspected was right.

Two hours later, Ellie Bartowski knew her suspicions were correct but also that there was no deliberate intent on the part of her sister-in-law to injure her husband.

She had been fully briefed. Director Graham had gone into excruciating detail on the type and degree of torture that Sarah had undergone while on assignment in Bosnia. It was horrible to hear and she had no idea how Sarah had survived. Now she knew what she'd done to escape, what she'd done to one of her captors. And she approved.

"Director Graham, what are you going to do to get her back on an even keel and back here where she belongs?"

"Intense therapy. A gruesome operation, to be sure. She'll hate herself, Doctor, she may try to kill herself, and that's why Major Casey is so 'attached' to her. We'll do the best we can, Doctor, but she'll need to know that you don't blame her. Can you honestly tell her that, knowing what she did to your brother? If you can't do it, if you're not sincere, then do nothing, please."

"I love her like my own sister, Director. Of course I forgive her. It wasn't her fault. If anything, it was yours for not recognizing the signs and symptoms, not yours personally, but your organization's certainly."

"You're right. We didn't see it. We only saw what we needed to see. That will change. Believe me. Now, later, I'll have a long conversation with her and you won't see her again until she's well. You'll have to be your brother's support. Casey will be here but a lot of his 'recovery' will depend on how you handle Sarah's role in his assault."

"I understand. I'll do anything either of them requires of me. I don't care what it is. Do you understand the depth of my commitment to those two? He's my brother and he's the last family I had until he brought Sarah into our lives. Now it's a family thing, Director."

"Good. One of these days I just might offer you the opportunity to express the depth of that commitment to others, but not right now. Chuck needs you and Sarah needs you. The others can wait."  


* * *

Ellie found Sarah sitting in the conference room across from John Casey. Major John Casey, NSA, not John from the BuyMore who formed a company with her brother. What else in her life was a 'cover'?

"Major, Director Graham needs a quick word with you. I won't leave Sarah alone, John. She needs her family around her now. I'm her family. Go ahead, it's all right."

Casey nodded and walked over and leaned down and whispered "I'll be right back, partner. I'll bring you another cup of the sludge they call coffee. Then we'll all go check on our boy, OK?"

She dumbly nodded her head, not looking up from the table top she had found so fascinating during the post-op briefing.

Ellie went over and sat next to her, taking her hand in hers and giving it a squeeze of reassurance.

"Sarah, I know what happened. I know what happened in Bosnia. What happened in Burbank was a horrible tragedy but it's not your fault, sis. I don't blame you and I know Chuck won't blame you either. What you did to escape, what you did to those bastards, I approve of wholeheartedly. And so would Chuck."

"When you tell him, his first response will be to hold you while he cries for you and then your husband will ask for names and use the intersect to find out all about them. And then he and John will hunt down any of those fucking rapists that remain alive and kill them. Then he'll come home to you, Sarah. He loves you more than anyone could ever love anyone. It amazes me. And you love him, but that's doesn't amaze me at all. You're soul mates, Sarah. You belong together."

"I'll watch over him while you're gone, don't worry about that. He'll be fine until you come back. Just please, please, sis, don't let it be too long. He needs you in his life now more than ever, so please, get well and come back to us, Sarah."  


* * *

Two hours later, Sarah Walker Bartowski was on a private jet to Washington, D.C. and then to a secure facility for treatment.


	5. Dreams Within Dreams

Flashback5

_Keep an eyeball on the dates, people. I put them there for a reason. History and Therapy segments are not contemporaneous. I kept my word - 1 a day until completed. _

_And thanks loads for the most excellent and insightful reviews.  
_

_Armor-Plated-Rat  


* * *

  
_

**Langley, Virginia  
CIA Clinic  
August 5**

Transcription of counseling session #12 – Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski

"_Dr. Foster, why are we still in this counseling if I'm to be 'refilled' as you put it and reassigned? Is it a requirement for my next assignment? It's been two days since our last session and all I've done has been sit around and do crossword puzzles and read crappy magazines."_

"_First tell me why you cried yourself to sleep last night, and why you spent over an hour in the shower this morning trying to muffle your sobs with a towel? Surely you're not feeling guilty, are you, Ms. Walker? Guilt? Over what? He was a nickel-dime asset. There are dozens more just like him. I'm sure the Agency can match one of the available candidates with someone who fits your description of another 'perfect match'."_

"_That was the fourth setting, Ms. Walker. Don't leave your chair again without permission. And if you found the past 4 minutes uncomfortable, just remember that I will ask questions and you will answer them. If I don't like your answer, that is, if I don't believe your answer…well, you get the idea."_

"_Now, why did you cry yourself to sleep last night?"_

"_My husband is dead. Why do you think I was crying? I loved him very much and I had such high hopes for our future together. Now it's all gone. No more 'us'. Just 'me'."_

"_And yet you earlier refused to even consider returning to his side after therapy concluded. That would have meant the end of 'us' and left just 'me', wouldn't it have? Please explain what you mean."_

"_It was different then. I could always slip into town and see him, watch him from a distance. Now, now I'll never see him again. There can never be a 'next time'. There are no more possibilities for' us', ever."_

"_Ms. Walker, if you had a time machine and could go back in time 3 days, just 3, not more, what would you do? Would you use it? Would you go back 3 days and go see your husband, one more time? Or would you just sit there and feel guilty?"_

"_I'd go back and I'd tell him how much I loved him, apologize for hurting him and beg his forgiveness. I'd stay by his side until he died in the O.R. but I'd have been with him and he wouldn't have died alone."_

"_His sister, Eleanor, she'd have been there, don't you think? She seems very devoted to her brother. He wouldn't have been alone so I think you're trying to say that you wanted to see him, be with him, and hold his hand. Isn't that right."_

"_I guess. Yes, I think that's right. But you don't have a time machine, Doctor, just that damned shock collar controller. So it's really a waste of time conjecturing. What are you going to do with me now? Fill me up with some other young man who'll fall victim to me?"_

"_No. I told you, you go nowhere until you're over this, aware of the triggers and comfortable in your own skin again. Ms. Walker, nowhere." _

"_Now, Ms. Walker, let's go back to my time machine. Let's say it's that dreadful day when he died the final time. I've got a cell phone that will enable you to call him, speak with him, and I've got airline reservations for Paris and your new assignment. Which would you pick up? The cell or your tickets?"_

"_Remember, he's alive. He wants to see you, to talk with you. He loves you, Ms. Walker, very much. He understands it wasn't him you were trying to kill. He does. He doesn't blame you. He wants you to come home and be with him. He misses you and wants you back home. Will you at least talk with him on the phone?"_

"_Or will you run away to Paris to meet your new partner, oh, let's see, Larkin, yes, Bryce Larkin."_

"_Well, Ms. Walker, which will it be? Why are you crying? It's a hypothetical situation. No one has a cell phone that can dial up the past. So why are you crying?"_

"_I'd give my soul to have such a cell phone, to be able to talk with him one last time, to tell him how sorry and ashamed I am, about how I'm afraid to see him, be with him, sleep with him. How very frightened I am about being in the same room with him for fear I'll go crazy again and this time I __will__ kill him."_

"_Sarah, he's not dead."_

"_Wh – what? He's dead. He died in surgery. You told me he was dead."_

"_I lied."_

"_I must be getting soft in my old age. That was the first setting. Now, sit and don't leave your chair without permission."_

"_You finally answered the question. You're afraid of hurting him again. That's wonderful progress. A real break through. And it didn't take nearly as long as we'd feared. I think you have a lot of thinking to do, Mrs. Bartowski. And a lot of planning for the future. "_

"_But we have a lot of hard work ahead of us but now that we've discovered exactly what the fear is we can work together to eliminate or control it. By the way, there will be a cell phone in your room when you return. Please remember the time difference and try not to tire him out. He needs to hear your voice and know you're OK, and that you are planning to come home to him. You are, aren't you, Mrs. Bartowski?"_

"_Oh, yes. As soon as possible."_

"_I spoke with his sister this morning. He's still in pain, his skull fracture has brought on near-blinding headaches but he's weathering the storm and he should be back to 'normal' within a month or so. One more thing. I've spoken with him. He feels responsible for this. He's very fragile right now, Sarah, and he's just as much afraid of 'hurting' you as you are of hurting him. Your fears are real, his are baseless phantoms. Don't feed his fears, Sarah, tell him the truth. It will do you both a world of good."_

End Transcription Session #12  


* * *

**Cedars-Sinai Hospital  
Room 2312  
Burbank, CA  
July 25 6:30pm**

John Casey and Ellie Bartowski had spent all their available time together in Chuck's room. Devon came as often as he could, especially during the first few days when Chuck's outlook was grim. For 10 days they'd maintained their watch, spelling each other for brief trips home to sleep, shower and change clothes. He was never alone. Two NSA operatives stood at the hallway end and at his door and checked the ID's and permissions of any and all personnel they didn't know by sight. Also on duty but unseen were 2 additional operatives, one posing as a patient, the other as a new night nurse.

He'd suffered a small bleed and after repairing it surgically, the decision had been made to resume the coma state until later. He'd been taken off the ventilator the previous evening. He was expected to awaken later in the day.

Ellie had just come in from her shift at the clinic and Casey had gone home to shower and catch up on his paperwork and maybe a few hours' sleep. Devon had been super understanding but she could tell his patience was wearing thin with her absences. She'd make it up to him once Chuck was awake, rational and out of danger.

He'd transitioned from coma to normal sleep after the doctor had injected a drug into his IV port earlier that morning. Coma patients slept a great deal after coming around. Comas were not 'sleep'.

She anticipated his needs and had a small cup of ice chips and the kitchen had a standing order for Jell-O.

_A/N: Coming Attractions: The evil Dr. Foster hits level 9 on the shock collar; Beckman's absence ignored; _

_Remember the dates are not contemporaneous. And thanks loads for the most excellent and insightful reviews.  
_


	6. Dream Weaver

Flashback6a

_A/N: One a day as promised. Let me know if you'd prefer fewer updates but longer chapters. Feedback on story appreciated. Sorry for short chapter but I still have optical issues. Apparently they crossed nerves when they did their thing and hooked the rectal nerve to where the optical nerve should be and vice versa resulting in my having a crappy view of life. Seriously, they screwed something up and they want to fix it today. So no updates until I get out.  
_

_Armor-Plated-Rat  


* * *

_**Cedars-Sinai Hospital  
Room 2312  
Burbank, CA  
August 3**

"_Bartowski, secure."_

"_Dr. Phyllis Foster, secure. Mr. Bartowski, I'm your wife's therapist here at the Langley Facility. I've had several sessions with her although she had had sessions with a previous therapist but he's…unavailable."_

"_Uh, how's she doing? Can I speak to her sometime? She's got to know that I'm fine, well, getting there, and I love her and don't blame her for what happened. Please, it's important to me, to us." _

"_At some point in time, yes, you'll be able to speak with her but she has to earn the right to speak to you. Has she always been so stubborn? Well, I'm going to be as blunt with you as I was and will be with Mrs. Bartowski."_

"_Fine, doctor, I appreciate that. There's too much double-talk in my life as it is. And she's not stubborn. Well, she's resolved. That's a better term for it. She's very dedicated to her career. She has a record she can be proud of in protecting and defending the 'greater good'. This was all a fluke, nothing more."_

"_Mr. Bartowski, it wasn't a fluke occurrence. It was a stress-driven experiential event. A flashback. You should be dead right now. I think her subconscious saved you. Tell me, does she sleep with a knife under her pillow? According to her report filed after returning to friendly hands and receiving treatment, she had disabled her rapist and slashed his throat with a knife. I'll ask you again, does she sleep with a knife under her pillow?"_

"_Her – her rapist? She was raped in Bosnia? When? She never said anything about it and we've talked about everything and I mean everything. Bryce and all the others. There are no secrets between us, doctor, none."_

"_Well, now you know that's not true, don't you. But I didn't call you to bring your wife's truthfulness into question. It's not something I imagine she's open with, if she even acknowledges that it happened at all. She may be suppressing it. It's part of her training. But it did happen. I'll email you the file. Director Graham is in complete agreement with bringing you into the fold, so to speak. And I know you host the intersect, Mr. Bartowski. Perhaps you should review your wife's files that way instead of waiting for an email."_

"_She was raped? My God, my Sarah, raped. Did she kill the bastard? I hope he suffered."_

"_Yes, she did. In exactly the same way she injured you. Does she sleep with a knife under her pillow? Please, it's important to her recovery."_

"_Yes. She always has and I don't care that she does if it gives her peace of mind. It freaked me out at first but I accepted it as part of her being a spy."_

"_Then some part of her subconscious recognized that her 'rapist' was you and she didn't slash your throat. That's interesting. That's probably when she stopped her attack on her 'assailant', realizing it was you."_

"_Interesting? She didn't cut my throat and you think that's interesting? I think it's damned gratifying. Much better than interesting. Much. When will she be able to home to me? I miss her, doctor, and this wasn't her damned fault. I must have done something. I'm always screwing us up somehow. Do you know what it was? Can you find out? I never meant to hurt her, make her relive the rape. Separate beds! Do you think that might be the answer?" _

"_Mr. Bartowski, Chuck, listen and listen carefully. You did nothing wrong. You did absolutely nothing to cause this. Yes, there was an external trigger but it was nothing you did. And even if somehow you provided the trigger, you couldn't have known. And your wife swears you've done nothing wrong. She was in a dream state when it triggered her response. Now, I have other patients…"_

"_When can she come back?"_

"_That's totally up to her. Now, I have other patients. I'll be calling with questions from time to time. Get well and stay that way. You seem to have issues with authority figures yourself. "Won't stay in the damned car" is a common thread, Mr. Bartowski. Perhaps couples therapy later in her treatment might benefit the both of you. Well, that's all I have time for. I'll be in touch."_

Chuck just stared at the phone. Some bastard had raped his Sarah, violated her and she killed him. And that awful night he had done something to cause her to have a flashback and she had tried to kill her rapist again. Him.

He stared at the phone almost in a fugue state accessing the intersect for almost an hour before he shook himself and began planning her revenge. He'd flashed through her personnel file, all her mission reports until he found the one he was looking for. 2004. Bosnia. Working with the UN investigating the massacre of 700 Bosniak men and boys by elements of the Serbian Army in 1995.

There had been five rapists not just one. Five. He cried boiling hot tears for his Sarah. How could she even bear the touch of a man after such violations? She had such strength and she loved him. It made him feel ashamed to be a man but so proud to be hers.

His 'migraine-like headache' as the neurologist termed it hit with a vengeance. Flashing hurt like hell since his attack. He took two of the little pills he'd been prescribed and noted time and date on his 'dope log'. No one wanted an addicted intersect.

* * *

**Cedars-Sinai Hospital  
Room 2312  
Burbank, CA  
August 3 10:30pm**

"Ellie, will you _please_ go home? Devon must be terminally horny by now and you two have been apart long enough. Please, sis, just pack up your papers and go be with Cap'n Awesome. I feel guilty taking you away from him. I don't want him hating me since he's the one who's 'in charge' of my conditioning program."

"Are you sure, Chuck? He understands, really. He's been very supportive. He practically lived here the first week after…after you were admitted."

"It's OK, Ellie. You can say 'the attack' or 'after Sarah beat the shit out of you'. It's OK.**"**

"Chuck, she's coming back. She promised. She's just got to get her head straightened out, that's all, so there's no repeat performance."

His eyes narrowed at her words and she hastened to correct a misunderstanding. Her brother, the intersect, was unfolding like a flower with facets of experience and behavior she'd never have imagined. He hid it well.

"I mean so she doesn't have another break down. Chuck, she's coming back to you. Now, you're getting out of here in a few days and you'll be staying with us – no back talk, Chuck. It's either that or Casey moves into the spare bedroom."

"Uh, not going to happen either way, Ellie. I just want to go home. I'm sure the spook laundry has the place spotless. It's not like I'll walk into nasty sheets and bloodstained walls or anything. And Casey can fire up his beloved bugs and voyeur away."

Ellie closed her eyes and tried not to envision what their bedroom had looked like when Casey had run in. She shook her head to clear her mind.

"Chuck, what would Sarah want you to do?" Time to play dirty. Play the guilt card.

"Exactly what I'm going to do. Go home and pick up the pieces of my life and get back to work. I have a new project and I might be traveling assuming the Powers That Be approve the project. I'll take Casey along for company. It'll fill the time until Sarah's back."

She gathered up her clinic folders, kissed her brother and mumbled 'he's so predictable' and left. Devon would appreciate her early return and she so wanted to just soak in the bathtub…maybe both of them could soak.

* * *

With Ellie gone, Chuck began working the plan he'd been thinking and working on since he knew about what had happened and why. It had all been in the intersect and he'd never even thought to look since he promised not to snoop into Sarah's files and history without her permission.

Dr. Foster had confirmed it without details during their first phone call to talk about Sarah and what happened and was very forthcoming in the call. She knew he was the intersect and she was blunt and up-front with Chuck about everything she and Sarah had discussed that she felt was germane. Patient confidentiality issues were not part of "CIA world".

"Casey, this is Chuck. Feel like a little hunting trip?"


	7. Dream Catcher redux

_A/N: Sorry for short chapter. Rushed for time and the mark 1 eyeball is hairy_

_Armor-Plated-Rat_  


* * *

**Cedars-Sinai Hospital  
Room 2312  
Burbank, CA  
August 4 2:00pm**

"Graham, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. Director, such a deal I have for you." He laid out his plan for the next 10 minutes.

"Nuh uh, no, absolutely not, Bartowski. Not even in the company of the entire damned 82nd Airborne Division. No way, no how."

"Director, does the name Sandra Benefeld ring a bell?"

"Don't go there, son. I know what you're thinking and it's definitely not going to happen. I told her about Sandra years ago. That's old news, son. Nice try though. I hear you're being discharged tomorrow. That's good. Well, it was nice chatting, Chuck but it's late…"

"Barbara James? Lauren Albright? Elizabeth Winkle? Winkle? What kind of name is 'Winkle'? Jasmine Lowell? Rhona Graham. Oh, wait, she's your wife. Should I go on?"

"That's blackmail, Bartowski. You wouldn't stoop to that. I know you better than you know yourself. You're an ethical young man, it goes against your moral code."

"I need to do it for Sarah, Director. Please. It could mean my marriage. It could mean _your_ marriage."

"Work out the details and have Major Casey email me the plan. If it's doable, I'll see about tasking agents to take care of them. Sufficient?"

"No. It has to be me and Casey and whomever else you task for support. It has to be that way."

"Send me the damned op plan. I knew letting that damned shrink call you was a mistake. Should have left sleeping Bartowskis lie."  


* * *

**Casa Bartowski  
August 5 2pm**

"Thanks again for bringing me home, Casey. Sorry about reactivating the surveillance cams but it was the only way I could escape Stalag Ellie and have some freedom to plan the hunt."

"It's OK, Chuck. I was getting bored. Besides, I'll be spending a lot of my time right here with you working out the hunt. I think it's a great idea but I'm surprised Graham went along with it."

"I simply told him the 'whys' and he agreed, Casey. He's not dumb even if he does have that stick up his ass."

"You got his agreement and support. I owe it to you and Sarah to help put those bastards in the ground just like those 700 they slaughtered. And they called themselves 'soldiers'! Fucking barbarians, murderers, using religion to attain political ends. Disgusting, Chuck. It needs to be done for a lot of reasons. Justice is the best one I can think of. Justice and closure for your wife and yourself."  


* * *

**Casa Bartowski  
August 5  
4:00pm**

"Bartowski, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. Hello, Chuck, it's me, baby. I – I …"

"Hey, don't cry, Sarah. I'm fine. Really. Casey's got the surveillance up and running so I'm all alone until you come home, sweetheart. Any idea when that might be? You know I can't cook, Sarah."

"I – I don't know, Chuck. I'm just so sorry about everything. I never meant to hurt you, baby. Please believe me. They told me you were dead, Chuck, and I just lost it. And then she told me you were alive – that she'd lied - that's when I had this great 'breakthrough' so I'm making good progress. My therapist is a bitch from Hell but she's getting the job done."

"Tell her to get her groove on and make it happen, Sarah. I miss you like crazy and you're all I've been able to think about since I got free of the drugs and could think straight. Can you share any details of the breakthrough? I mean, if you want. It's your private business and as long as it was nothing I did…it wasn't anything I did, was it, Sarah?"

"No, baby, you did absolutely nothing wrong. I had a flashback to a mission gone wrong in Bosnia a long time ago. I screwed up and got caught and I had to do a lot to escape. But nothing involving you, Chuck, honest. I would tell you if it did."

Chuck was taking notes and making inferences. "So, that was a long time ago. Why'd it just pop up now? Something must have triggered it – something I did that night, a phrase, a touch – something in my sleep. If I caused this, oh, Sarah, if I caused this somehow I'm sor…"

"_**You didn't do anything wrong, sweetheart, not a damned thing**_. That's what makes it hurt so badly, Chuck, you didn't do anything to trigger it or deserve what I did to you. And I'm so damned sorry for hurting you. I'd never do that – never – that damned flashback. It was so _real_, baby, so very real, and I'm afraid of another one."

"Chuck, I only have a few minutes on the phone. Tell me how you are, please? I need to know, Chuck. Scars, broken bones, everything. Don't keep secrets. I'll kick your ass if you do and…oh, no, I didn't mean that, baby. Believe me, please, I meant…"

"Hey, hey, Sarah, please don't cry. You have to be able to kick my ass because you're my handler and my wife. You're my blonde ninja spy girl. You have to be able to kick ass. OK, I got a broken nose. Casey says it adds character. Scars on my chest and stomach from the surgeries and a really cool scar on my cheek that makes me look older, so no more getting carded when I buy beer. How about you? How are you? No bullshit, Sarah. How are you?"

"Scared to be in the same room with you. Afraid I'll wig out again and hurt you. I'm terrified of being asleep with you in the same bed. I'm afraid, Chuck, all the time. I need you but I'm so afraid for you. Maybe we should be apart for a while? I still got my room at the hotel and we can get together for, you know, at the apartment and then I'll just go back to the hotel. That'll work for us, Chuck."

"We're married, Sarah, married. We're not dating and having premarital sex, we're married. I want you with me as my wife as much as possible. I need you. I miss you. Living in a hotel and me in the apartment, maybe for a while if it means you'll come home. I'll do whatever needs to be done, sweetheart, anything so we can get back to what we had."

"I know we're married, Chuck, and I don't want to be a widow. I'd rather live apart than risk harming you. As long as I'm awake I'm fine but I'm terrified to fall asleep around you, honey. I'm afraid I'll have another damned flashback and end up killing you this time. Please, let's try it out and if you really love me you'll do it. Please, Chuck, I need to come home. I want it all back, every wonderful thing we had. I want it all back, baby."

"OK. We'll do the hotel thing if it gets you back here soon, sweetheart. Anything to get you home to me."

"But listen, I'm going to be out of town with Casey on a recon so you won't be able to call me. It's a recon mission only so no risk but it's up-close and personal but I get to stay in the van and just kick back and relax. I can't do much more than that anyway. I'll be back in a week, 10 days at the most. If you need anything, call Ellie, she'd love to hear from you anyways. She misses her little sis and your shopping trips."

"I have to go, baby. I love you and I'll be home soon. You watch your ass on your trip, stay in the damned van and get strong. I miss you, husband, and I love you and I'll be home just as soon as I can and I'll never leave you again. Bye, Chuck. Be safe."


	8. Dream a Little Dream

_A/N: Enjoy. Review. Take pity on a one-eyed rat._

_Armor-Plated-Rat  


* * *

_

_Casa Bartowski  
August 5 7pm_

After speaking with his wife and hearing the anguish and fear in her voice, he was severely rattled to say the least.

His 'kick-ass ninja spy girl' was a bundle of anxieties and he hated being the cause and reason for them. She seemed to have lost something of herself. He couldn't blame her, nor did he. It was Fate with her damned fickle finger.

It was a situation that screamed out for closure. For Chuck, it screamed for justice and revenge. He would give her both. He would not lose his wife, his other half, to the fears of her mind.

Months before, they had talked about Bryce in honest detail and she'd put all his fears to rest, and they had been huge fears, some imaginary but some were honest and had their roots in the past. She had dissected her relationship with Bryce like a skilled surgeon, explaining and comparing and contrasting 'Chuck v. Bryce' and declaring Chuck the uncontested winner of her heart.

In a very uncharacteristic moment for Sarah she'd even admitted that the 'We'll always have Omaha' moment and her doubts had lasted less than an hour. Bryce had never really stood a chance.

And, lying together on her hotel room bed on 'fake date night', she'd dissected Chuck with the same fine surgeon-like skills, taking apart his morbid and overwhelming fear of abandonment. Yes, everyone close to him had deserted him except for Morgan and his sister, Ellie. She told him to add her to the list of 'never leave you' people. It was then she'd revealed all the steps she'd taken to secure her position as his 'permanent handler' and – his wife.

He'd been speechless before but this was almost like a stroke. She giggled as he tried to form words. She giggled.

'_W – W – ' was all he could say, he couldn't manage 'wife'. Her giggling turned to a gentle laughter as she kissed him softly and shyly asked 'Will you marry me, Chuck Bartowski?'_

_He finally found his voice. 'Is this for the cover or – for real, Sarah?'_

"_Forever, Chuck. Please say 'yes, Sarah, I'll marry you'."_

"_Yes, Sarah, I'll marry you." There was the hint of evil in his eye. "So, don't I get a ring or something?"_

_She'd smacked him on the arm and then buried her face in his neck. "I'm so happy, Chuck. I can't wait to tell Ellie. We have plans to make and…"_

"_Wait, tell Ellie? You mean it's **real-real,** like for real? You mean we can wear rings, live together, be public? That kind of real?"_

"_Yes, dimbulb. What did you think I meant? I'm tired of being a cover girlfriend and dumping all my feelings and desires at the door, Chuck. I love you, you love me, and I want to be your wife. It's sanctioned. At the highest levels. Now, how about a honeymoon preview, stud.' _

Ellie had, of course, come unglued at the news and really came apart when Sarah calmly announced that she expected Ellie to be her 'real' sister, not a 'damned relation'.

Sarah wanted a quiet and personal wedding with just their immediate friends and family, nothing fancy and certainly nothing as elaborately choreographed as Ellie's had been. After much debate and several bottles of wine it was decided 'to hell with convention' and they'd just go to Vegas and take the plunge. Sarah wanted to get married before anyone could change their mind in the 5-sided puzzle palace but kept that worry to herself.

"_No."_

_One word, spoken softly, just one but it stopped the conversation and crushed the mood._

"_I want Sarah to have the wedding she wants, not the wedding of expediency, not the alternative wedding to 'it costs too much'. I want her to have her little girl's dream wedding even if it's just the four of us. I want the dress, the veil, the rings, the church, the whole magilla. If that's what you want, Sarah, that's what you'll have."_

"_And an engagement ring. Nothing fancy but certainly something very nice. And I want pictures, Sarah, wedding pictures like those folks in the house we housesat had. I want that and more, but I'll settle for that."_

_Sarah teared up and sat in his lap on the couch and hugged him, whispering that he'd made her the happiest woman ever. And Ellie started to bawl and Devon just gave Chuck the thumbs-up from across the room. Apparently Fate had dumped its crap somewhere else on someone else for a change because everything after that was just perfect.  


* * *

_

Chuck sat holding the framed wedding portrait of Sarah in her wedding dress and sighed. She had been the most beautiful bride in the world, radiating such happiness in that picture. And now, 5 months later, it had all turned to shit.

He'd bring that happiness back into his wife's life if it was the last thing he ever did.

Chuck knew from his discussion with Dr. Foster that something had 'triggered' the flashback. He thought back to that day and tried to remember everything they'd done or said.

Sarah had been sitting on the new couch, watching the news when he'd come back from the Castle and his weapons training. She got up, gave him a hug and a 'welcome home I missed you" kiss and then went in to fix a quick dinner by selecting a random take-out menu. Neither of them had bothered mastering cooking past coffee, whatever could be nuked and pancakes.

He remembered that she hadn't had much of an appetite and had begged off going over to Ellie's saying she had a killer headache. Once again Chuck had nagged her about getting her eyes checked and she'd flipped him the bird, smiled and went back to indulge herself in one of Ellie's magic aroma therapy baths.

They'd gone to bed, done some serious smooching but both were tired and all Sarah had wanted to do was cuddle and he'd been happy to oblige. They'd fallen asleep and that's the last happy memory he'd had of them together.

On a hunch, he called a fellow nerd who now did tech work for the local TV station that Sarah always caught the news on.

"Joel, Chuck Bartowski. Can I get a copy of the news broadcast for…"? He went on to specify the date and time saying he was trying to win a bet with a jock about something.

"Sure, man. We keep it all on hard drive for 30 days. I'll put it on a flash drive and leave it at the front desk. You can pick it up after lunch tomorrow."  


* * *

**Langley, Virginia  
CIA Clinic  
August 6**

Transcription of counseling session #13 – Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski

"_Good morning, Sarah. I take it from the smile on your face that your conversation with your husband went well."_

"_Yes. Thank you so much for letting me speak to him. He sounded tired but healthy. He misses me and still loves me and you were right, he did blame himself but I slammed that door. We talked about his physical condition and my mental one. I can't believe after all I did to him that he still loves me and wants me home. That's such a relief."_

"_You earned the privilege. But why on earth would his reaction surprise you? The man loves you deeply. I got a strong dose of it when I spoke to him. There's nothing he won't do to hasten your recovery. He even agreed to 'couples therapy' later on without hesitation or reservation."_

"_We talked about me staying at the CIA residence and him at our apartment for a while until I can get over my fears. It would only be for a while I hope. He agreed because he said he needed me and if that's what it took to get me back, he was all for it."_

"_That's surprising. No objections at all to that arrangement?"_

"_Well, at first but I told him what I was afraid of the most and he finally agreed. Do you think if we 'slept' apart I could go home soon?"_

"_That arrangement would put a strain on your marriage. It is avoiding the problem, not resolving it. No. When you go home it will be live normally as husband and wife, sleeping in the same bed, living a normal life. Not a part-time wife/husband relationship. Besides, you still have responsibilities to the Agency – you are married to the intersect – and what would happen if he were taken while you were sleeping in the hotel? Think about that and you'll know why it has to be a return to 'normal' or…"_

"_Or I can never go home, never see him again, is that what you're so delicately trying to say?"_

"_Yes. You'll simply get what you wanted when you started therapy here – that annulment you went on and on about. Then you'll be returned to limited duty, nowhere near him, Europe or the Far East, for permanent deep cover reassignment." _

"_Or is that what you really want, Sarah? Is all this angst simply a clever ploy to get out of a marriage you should never have been allowed to enter in the first place?"_

"_No! No, never. I – I want to go home. He needs me and I need him. Can't you people recognize love when you see it or are you too damned jaded to appreciate a human emotion in an agent? And who better to protect the intersect host than the woman who loves him more than herself?"_

"_We're getting off the track here. Accepting your 'real' emotion of love for your husband, and ignoring the elephant in the room for a bit, what…"_

"_What 'elephant'? The issue is getting me home and what it will take for me to accomplish that. There are no other issues. Or does the CIA have another agenda working here?"_

"_Not the CIA, no. But the elephant in the room is the ultimate disposition of the intersect host. I don't want to get into that now. Later, definitely, but not now."_

"_Well, we're getting into it now whether it suits your timeline or not. 'Ultimate Disposition' is CIA-speak for killing my husband, isn't it, doctor?"_

"_Surely you considered the possibility of his being put in a secure facility, deep witness protection, or, unfortunately, the necessity of eliminating him when you first proposed the marriage option to Director Graham?"_

"_No, never. I considered my presence in his life our guarantee of continued freedom. That was the agreement. My lifetime commitment in exchange for his freedom. Doctor, that was the primary reason for my proposal to Director Graham in the first place." _

" _Marriage was icing on the cake. I got to have my cake and marry him, too. You have no idea the extent to which I'll go to protect my husband. It goes beyond love, beyond patriotism, beyond anything you could possibly imagine. He has become my reason for being, can you understand that?"_

"_Then why didn't you ever tell him about the rapes in Bosnia? If you were so truthful in every other aspect of your life with your husband, why did you selectively ignore the rapes? Your husband was quite proud of your truthfulness and was shaken when I brought up the rapes. I'd assumed you'd told him about them."_

"_You - you told him about that? You told him I was raped? He knows?"_

"_Yes, and he reacted very appropriately and very violently. Especially when I asked if you slept with a knife under your pillow."_

"_That bothered him at first but he's come to accept it as a part of who I am – Sarah the spy."_

"_Sarah, why didn't you cut his throat like you did your assailant? You duplicated every other strike and punch but not the slash."_

"_I woke up. Chuck said something and I woke up. I don't remember what he said but it woke me up and I stopped and called Casey."_

"_Do you ever think about the other 4 rapists, Sarah? The ones who never got 'dealt with'?"_

"_No. We're trained to compartmentalize trauma, you know that. We're told to wall it off and deal with it later."_

"_But you never did 'deal with it later', did you?"_

"_No…I didn't. I never really thought about it again. I got treated, took the pills, sweated out AIDS for 6 months and then went back to full field status. Life got…hectic…and I never dealt with it. And I almost killed Chuck because I never dealt with it."_

"_It's good that you're taking responsibility for your actions as well as inactions. But, in spite of all his love for you and how much you say you love him, why didn't you tell him about the rapes?"_

"_Pride. God damned pride. He put me up on a pedestal, his blonde kick-ass ninja spy girl, and I liked it. I think that I was afraid he'd feel I was incompetent, not worthy of my assignment to protect him. And also I was bitterly ashamed because I couldn't stop the rapes. Not until they let their guard down and I could escape. Looking back, I should have known better. He loved me even then."_

"_Sarah, that's an amazing admission from an agent like you. Pride and shame. You're only human. He would have felt devastated for you and probably been a little reluctant to pursue a sexual relationship despite your seduction mission but…"_

"_Wait a minute. You don't know anything about Chuck and I – our sex life - before marriage. There wasn't one. We didn't 'seal the deal' until the night I proposed to him. I would never have used sex to control him. I loved him too much. I almost lost him to a little sandwich maker once and even then I wouldn't use sex to manipulate or control him."_

"_YOU proposed to him?"_

"_Yep. He was speechless. We'd just done a j-o-b on his abandonment problem and I'd already been given permission by Director Graham to pursue a relationship and so I figured 'screw the courtship', I loved him and he loved me."_

"_Sarah, that's all the time we have today but I definitely want to hear more about this. You've done an incredible job today. Keep it up. The phone's back in your room. Be gentle with him and please don't hassle him about his conversation with me. He did nothing but support you the entire conversation. I'll see you tomorrow."_

[End Transcription Session #13]

End Flashback


	9. Pipe Dreams

_A/N: Dates are now contemporaneous. Saints v NYG so I'm quitting the tripe business for the day._

Armor-Plated Rat  


* * *

**Casa Bartowski  
Burbank CA  
August 6 8:00pm**

Chuck had just taken two of the prescribed 'wonder pills' for his migraine-like headache. The headaches would flare up when his blood pressure climbed and that meant limiting his interaction with the intersect. If he flashed he got a headache. Wonderful. He had intel dailies to review and that meant a migraine daily. He waited patiently for the pills to kick in. The lights were off and he was sprawled on the new couch just waiting.

He found his cell where he'd thrown it and answered.

"Bartowski, secure."

"Bartowski. Secure. Hi, baby, how you feeling?"

"Lonely. How was the session today?"

"Pretty good. We got a lot of things hashed out. She was amazed that I proposed to you, Chuck. And she was pretty amazed that we hadn't been doing the wild thing before that night. She wants all the gory details. Think I should comply?"

"Yeah, honesty is always the best policy. I'm neither ashamed nor embarrassed about our wedding. I think you were a beautiful bride and I was just sitting here a while ago looking at the wedding portrait. I miss you, sweetheart, so much it hurts. I've become a Sarah-junkie."

"Well, it's mutual, Chuck. I'm addicted to you and I miss my fixes. I'm trying to hurry this up but apparently there's a way to go. Please, be patient, baby. I'm coming home to you, honest, just as soon as I can."

"Um, sweetheart, I, uh, I know about Bosnia. She let it slip out when we were talking and I guess I kind of got really bent out of shape. I – I – oh, Sarah, I'm so sorry. I must have done something that reminded you of it, them, ah shit, I'm just so sorry I hurt you."

"Sweetheart, you did nothing wrong. I don't know what triggered it. It could have been anything. A smell, a sound, a combination of things. Don't worry about it, please?"

"How can you expect me to ignore what those bastards did to you? You're a better person than me if you can. I'm so damned angry at them for what they did."

"Chuck, I'm not asking you to ignore it. Baby, Dr. Foster said ignoring it is what led me into this mess in the first place. I did what the Agency taught us and compartmentalized it and suppressed it. I never 'got around' to dealing with it and it came up and bit you in the ass. Chuck, please, let it go, just let it go. It's enough that I hurt you, please, let all this go and I'll deal with it. Please. Don't make me carry this burden, too."

"What else are you carrying around, Sarah? If I can help, you know I will. Sometimes, sometimes sharing is enough to lighten the load."

"_**I'm dealing with it, OK, Chuck. I'm dealing with it. You have enough to handle just staying alive. Let me handle the big stuff, the spy stuff, OK? I did just fine until this, didn't I? Well, didn't I?"**_

"I get you, Sarah. You don't have to yell. I'll worry about me and let you worry about everything else, right? That's your job, worry about everything else. My job is just to keep breathing and flashing and reporting. No problems, I got it."

"Chuck, I'm sorry I yelled, really, I'm just all stressed out over this. I made great progress today and I called to tell you about it not to start a fight. I'm sorry, I'm just tired and lonely. I just want to come home and wrap myself around you and never let you go again."

"I'd like that, Sarah, a lot. I want you home too, sweetie. Well, it is late in DC. I'll talk with you when you call again. Good night, Sarah, I love you, baby and I miss you. Please listen to your therapist, I'm sure she knows what she's doing. Sweet dreams, wife."

"I love you, too, Chuck. Please, just forget all about Bosnia. I'm getting better and I'll be home just as soon as I can. Good night, Chuck."  


* * *

Chuck couldn't do much about the situation. The last thing he'd wanted to do was upset her. He was an ass. Instead of praising her progress he'd rubbed her nose in her failures. She'd gotten upset and yelled through most of the conversation and he'd retreated into sarcasm. She doesn't need to carry all this around with her.

'_Why the hell won't she share with me? Does she think I'm incapable of accepting that things happened to her, terrible things, in the years before he met her? Damn those bastards.'_

On the other side of the country Sarah was having a similar conversation with herself. She'd called with great news and he'd been honest and forthright with her telling her he knew about the rapes because her doctor had thought he'd already known. She should have told him but she never thought it would be an issue between them.

'_Well, I've made it an issue. First I try to kill him and tonight I practically demanded that he let it go when I know damned good and well this will eat a hole in him. And then I cut him down by asking him to let me bear that burden, __**too. **__Dr. Foster had warned me – don't hassle him about the conversation. I didn't listen.'_

'_He'll latch onto that like a little terrier and worry it until he's figured it out. I keep forgetting he's fucking brilliant and will chip away at something until he's figured it out. I should have just told him I loved him for wanting to share but it was a 'therapy thing'. Oh, great, now I'm lying to him again.'  


* * *

_

**Casa Bartowski  
August 6  
9pm**

Chuck had asked Casey to swing by the TV station and pick up the flash drive from Joel. Casey was curious and Chuck told him he had an idea he wanted to verify before discussing with him and asked him to come over later. It had to do with the Hunt. Casey was all ears.

"John, I've gone over everything I know Sarah did that day. Things were fine until she watched the 6 o'clock news. Then she got distant, moody, complained of a headache and when we went to bed all she wanted to do was cuddle. I was tired and happy to slide by with just that. The rest you know."

"This is the news broadcast I had a friend down at Sarah's favorite TV station copy for me. That's what you picked up for me."

Chuck dry-swallowed two more of the pills for his 'migraine-like' headache.

"What's with the tic-tacs, Chuck? Those the ones the doc gave you for your headaches?"

"Yep. Don't worry, I'm not going to OD on them. I just took those two today. Good thing you mentioned it, I need to log it for the medical gnomes. It's becoming automatic. I'm a junkie…" He laughed but it sounded hollow even to him as he wrote the date, time and pill count of his latest 'fix'.

"Maybe we better hold off on the video, Chuck. You're pale as a ghost. Sarah will kick my ass if I let anything happen to you. You got your 'med-alert' bracelet? You know you're going to have to wear it until they sign off on your status. Don't screw around with your health, Chuck. I'm leaving and you can hit the sack. You look like shit, Bartowski. Use the bracelet if you feel ill, Chuck. That's what it's for. Mash the button and one of the backup singers will be here within a few minutes."

Casey pulled the flash drive from the machine and pocketed it. "Sleep, Chuck, I'll be in about 10am and we can review this then. Sleep, you need it. You were almost dead 3 weeks ago. Don't finish yourself off through neglect. Walker would not like it one bit."

He couldn't tell Casey that he couldn't sleep. Every time he slept, even the nap this afternoon, it had been filled with dreams of Bosnia and rape and murder since his conversation with Dr. Foster. He was dead tired and just laid down on the new couch and slept. The dreams came but so, thankfully, did the morning.  


* * *

**Langley, Virginia  
CIA Clinic  
August 7**

Transcription of counseling session #14 – Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski

"_Good morning, Sarah. Why the long face?"_

"_I called Chuck last night. The conversation started out really nice but went to hell in nothing flat."_

"_How so?"_

"_He told me he knew about the rapes. He took the blame for doing something that triggered the flashback. He kept apologizing and I told him to let it go, his anger at the 5 men, his guilt. I told him I didn't want to carry that burden, too."_

"_Too? What else are you carrying around, Saran?"_

"_That's exactly what he asked me. Those exact same words. He offered to help me by talking about it. He said sharing is enough to lighten the load."_

"_He's right, you know. He's perceptive of your needs, Sarah, and that's a good thing to have in a husband."_

"_Well, not when it's him. I didn't want to look weak or inadequate to him and I starting yelling that I was dealing with it and I could handle the big spy stuff and that he had enough of a challenge just keeping himself alive."_

"_I told him to forget all about Bosnia. Forget about those men. I forgot who I married. He's a genius and he will take this thing apart until he finds out what the problem is."_

"_And when he does? What will he do that frightens you so much?"_

"_He'll pity me or he'll use his talents and the intersect and do something stupid and end up getting hurt or worse and I couldn't stand either one. Why did you have to tell him about Bosnia?" _

"_I could have created something to fit the facts without him knowing I was raped repeatedly by Serbian Scorpion militia? Why couldn't you have just kept your damned mouth shut and let me handle things with him?"_

"_Because, Sarah, you wouldn't be solving your problem, simply creating another one that would eventually come out. Remember, his sister was fully informed of what happened to you, fully. Do you think she would keep such information from her brother?"_

"_Oh, God, that's what she meant. She said she knew what I'd done to escape and approved of it. Chuck said he was glad the bastard was dead. He didn't know about the others and he wouldn't have known, damn you."_

"_Sarah, he loves you. He's worried about you and he's angry that you had to endure such vileness. Why can't you accept that? He's feeling your pain and in his mind he's seeing horrible images that are probably driving him mad with anger. He feels impotent, Sarah. Shutting him out is not the answer."_

"_Oh, right. Hey, Chuck, I was raped repeatedly in every possible way by 5 men and had to seduce the idiot who was last and convince him I liked it and let him do it again and pretend I liked it so I could do to him what I did to you? Oh, right, that will go over really big with him. I doubt he'll want a physical relationship after this. No one wants damaged goods."_

"_Sarah, I want you to take this notebook and go back to your quarters and write down the entire sequence of events that took place. Write down everything you can remember from the time of your capture until you returned to friendly forces. We'll go over it together tomorrow afternoon."_

"_But right now I want you to go back, take a hot shower and take a nap. You're running on pure adrenalin. Take your time and relax and write this out for discussion."_

[End transcription session #14]  


* * *

**Casa Bartowski  
August 8 10am**

Casey used his key to enter Chuck's apartment. The last time he'd used the key was fresh on his mind. If he closed his eyes he could smell the thick copper smell of blood. He shook his head to dispel the memories.

"Morning, Casey. There's coffee and whatever else you might want. Let's get started. I have a lot to do on this one."

Casey tossed him the flash drive and Chuck fumbled for it, finally catching it and inserting it into his computer.

Six minutes later – a lifetime later - Chuck and Casey knew what the seminal trigger for the 'event' was. Chuck sent an email to Dr. Foster.  


* * *

_To: .gov_

_From: .gov_

_Subj: Attached mpeg file_

_I've gone over the events that preceded the flashback and this is what I've found. Sarah is a news junkie and she always watched the news on this channel. They ran a clip on the outcome of the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) on the evening news the night Sarah had her flashback._

_I think he is one of Sarah's attackers. I've identified the four others from UNFORS file photographs._

_In 2004 Sarah was assigned as a 'watcher' to a member of an investigative team researching possible mass gravesites from the Srebrenica massacres in 1995. I'm attaching a photo of her, the 5 UN investigators and their Serbian security 'escort' taken the same day as her attack. Note the officer in charge. He's a younger version of the man in the video clip._

_One of these men, Petr Mladic, the big man driving the vehicle, is Sarah's final attacker. He was 'murdered' by 'Bosniak bandits' on the same day as Sarah's attack and the massacre of the UN team by 'bandits'. None of this is coincidental and all of it is circumstantial but it's enough for me._

_She'll have closure and justice. Tell her I love her and will be in touch. I'll email 'progress reports' and photos for you to share with her if you feel such action is appropriate. You have our future in your hands, Dr. Foster, please don't let it slip through your fingers._

_And don't taunt her with making the cell phone available. I won't be able to take her calls and I don't want her thinking I'm avoiding talking to her. I love her. She's my life. I want to wake up next to her for the next 50 years or so, see her smiling in her sleep and know I put the smile there. _

_CB_


	10. One Pill Makes You Happy

**Castle  
Burbank, CA  
August 9 7am**

"Chuck, I don't think this is such a hot idea after all. You flash and you puke and dry-swallow 2 pills. It's a dangerous ritual. You're not supposed to be even reviewing the intel dailies yet according to the neurologist. You have to stop and think, Chuck. What would Sarah say?"

"She'd ignore the headaches and pop the pills. After all, she ignored a Bosnian gang rape until she had no choice but to deal with it, courtesy of yours truly. As for the dailies, it's what I do, Major Casey. My raison d'etre. It's why the CIA pays me a king's ransom monthly, pays for my apartment, provided me with a wife and a best friend. It's my duty and obligation to review, flash and report according to my CIA wife. The rest of it is her responsibility."

Casey's eyes narrowed and he frowned; 'provided me with a wife…' did not sound like Chuck.

"Now, what has the NSA found out that the CIA either couldn't or wouldn't put in the intersect for me to find?"

"Kradzav Demirovic fled to Canada in 2006 to avoid prosecution by a war crimes tribunal set up by the Serbian government in response to demands for an investigation from other countries. He's in Vancouver working for a Russian émigré he apparently knew from his time in the old Warsaw Pact armies. He has no known background in intelligence operations. He was just dumb muscle for the Scorpions."

"Well, he's about to be unemployed. Do you have an address on Demirovic? Place of employment? Next of kin in Vancouver, perhaps?"

"Got an address and his 'employer' runs the rackets in Vancouver's Russian immigrant neighborhoods. Demirovic is one of his collectors and enforcers."

"Good. Drive or fly?"

"If we fly, it's commercial, Chuck. We're going to a foreign nation that happens to be our ally and neighbor. We can't go in government transport, that's for sure. I vote we fly and take our 4 backup singers to the concert."

"Works for me. I wasn't looking forward to spending 14 hours in the car with Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice, I can tell you. Man, we should send them to Fulcrum. They'd disrupt any and every operation they were involved in."

The four backup agents, a mixed team of men and women, were constantly sniping at each other. They were cleared for intersect data but could not know Chuck's identity as the intersect host. They were told he was a genius at everything and that was it. Chuck liked that, a lot.

"Oh, I don't know, Chuck. I think 'Carol' has a crush on you." Casey laughed at the look of horror on Chuck's face. 'Carol' was by far the most mean-spirited of the foursome. 'Carol' was about 5 foot 8 inches tall with legs all the way up to her ass and long reddish blonde hair and the bluest eyes Chuck had ever seen. If he'd been single, she'd have been in grave danger of falling into his bed. She'd made the mistake of sniping at Chuck and he'd reduced her to tears in less than 30 seconds.

"Well, Mr. Bartowski, what makes you so special that you have a team of babysitters and an NSA chaperone?"

"_I kill people who annoy me, 'Carol', usually by knife, but sometimes by pistol. And you're not my sitters; you're my backup singers. And Casey, well, John's just special that way, whereas you, 'Carol', are insufferable and also annoying, in an empty-headed sort of way. Kinda like the girl in the horror film who just __**has**__ to go into the dark room. You know, the first one to die a horrible death?'_

The quartet of CIA agents had become very quiet and alert. He watched in the side view mirror as she furiously wiped tears from her eyes. He felt a moment of remorse then thought about what they were doing and thought no more about her. Casey just grinned. He knew the four rookies had been told that their careers were forfeit if anything happened to "Mr. Bartowski".  


* * *

They arrived in Vancouver and were met by a pair of CIA agents who'd brought them their weapons load-out. The agents took their normal glocks or Berettas while Chuck looked at the agent disbursing the weapons.

"I specified a .45 Model 1911 Colt with silencer, not this piece of Italian crap. Can't you people read?"

"Sir, we no longer handle the .45 since it's obsolete. But, I have a Glock for you with a silencer."

"Fine. Next time though, follow instructions." The agent blushed furiously and stalked away. His partner pointed the way to the vehicle they'd procured. A map and GPS device had been provided and the agent left the six of them and returned to his original task as government gnome.

"Winning friends and influencing people where ever you go, I see. Lighten up, Chuck. You're strung tight as a fiddle. Ease up on the intensity. You know your blood pressure is the issue, Chuck. Your head will explode and cover us with blood and gray matter." Chuck just glared at him and flipped him off to the amusement of the backup singers. One glance from Chuck shut them up.

Bob & Carol (not their real names, of course) had been partners since graduating from The Farm, a whole 27 days ago. They would have been surprised to learn that Ted & Alice hadn't been partnered at all, but had been plucked from the final 3-days of training to form an ad hoc backup team.

"Director, I want fresh meat without preconceived opinions. I want 2 mixed teams of partners or newbies. It's the only way this will work, Director Graham." He got what he wanted.

Casey drove directly to the location of the target. Chuck commented on his unfailing ability to get from 'here to there' without getting lost. Casey just grinned and told him it was a 'pilot thing'. Chuck still thought it was pretty cool.

Kradzav Demirovic worked for Piotr Zhukov and according to the tail put on him, he was currently in the office awaiting an assignment. Chuck and Casey walked into the crowded bar that functioned as Zhukov's office and headquarters. Chuck politely asked a thug for Piotr Zhukov and was told he was not there. He asked again and was told to leave. He asked a third time but this time the silencer-equipped Glock was touching the thug's groin. The thug pointed to a door beside the bar and Chuck motioned him to 'lead on'. Chuck motioned for Casey to take up a position at the bar.

The man knocked at the door and was told to enter in Russian. Chuck pushed in behind the man and found the object of his search: Kradzav Demirovic.

"Excuse this rude interruption, Mr. Zhukov, but are you related to General Pavel Zhukov, the great tank commander who defeated the fascists in the Great Patriotic War?" Chuck asked with innocent fervor. When Demirovic approached Chuck, intent on throwing him out, Zhukov raised a hand stopping him.

"Yes, I am his grandson. And who are you to ask?"

"I am the grandson of Yitzak Barinoshkva who once commanded a tank in your grandfather's personal platoon. It is a great honor to meet the grandson of a legend."

"Barinoshkva! He saved my grandfather at the **Pocket**. My grandfather told that story many times over. This is a wonderful surprise. What can I do for the grandson of Barinoshkva?"

"You can step aside while I shoot this piece of roach shit who raped my wife in Bosnia and then allow me to leave, unmolested. Nothing more. Consider it the repayment of a life."

Demirovic's eyes bulged and he reached for his pistol under his suit coat in the waistband of his pants. Chuck shot him with the silenced Glock in the crotch, stomach and then the face.

"I apologize for not getting your permission. I will leave now. Your grandfather's debt has been paid in full, Piotr Zhukov. I thank you for allowing me to settle this debt of honor."

Chuck turned and left the office, walking quickly through the bar to the sidewalk. Casey ran after him stepping over the puddles of puke that lined the path to the waiting SUV and helped Chuck into the truck. The backup singers flowed from their posts and got into the SUV and Casey pulled away into traffic.

Casey glanced over at Chuck but wisely decided nothing needed to be said about the trembling hands and tears running down his cheeks. His friend was dealing with the emotions of taking a human life and finding that his humanity was still intact. Casey hoped Chuck would never change but knew it was too late. He'd have to keep a close eye on him because he really wasn't a hunter at all. Chuck Bartowski was just a human being dealing with the unthinkable.  


* * *

They met the two CIA agents at the designated rendezvous site where they retrieved the weapons given to the team and, with great glee, handed Chuck a clean white shirt and tie since his had been stained with puke and stunk.

The first agent turned to the second as they walked to their vehicle and said, " Not such a hot shit after all, was he? Pussy puked all over himself. Probably wet his pa…" and found himself lying on his back staring up at a very pissed off 'Carol' and the other backup singers.

"Mr. Bartowski just walked into the headquarters of the Russian Mafia in Vancouver and executed a Serbian war criminal and walked back out and then got sick. You desk-warming paper pushers better watch your fucking mouths around him. His backup singers will definitely take offense."

His partner offered him a hand up and some overdue advice. "Damn it, Felix, how many times do you have to be told you don't underestimate the quiet ones, the human-seeming ones. Especially not the ones with their own hunter-killer teams. Jesus, did you see the looks on their faces? Now, let's go back to the office so you can…change your drawers."  


* * *

Two hours later they were airborne and returning to Los Angeles. None of the backup singers said a word about their asset puking his guts up before getting into the SUV or about the white pills he'd dry-swallowed immediately afterward.

"So, Chuck, tell me where you learned to speak Russian with a Minsk accent and where you learned about Zhukov and who the hell is Yitzak Barinoshkva?"

"You heard everything, Major, and I know you speak Russian. So what's the big deal?"

"You mean you're really the grandson of Yitzak Barinoshkva?"

Chuck just smiled and said nothing. Finally, "No, Casey, I'm Polish. I just took Russian in high school and at Stanford, the rest I pulled off the internet."

Casey laughed and shook his head, mumbling something about 'balls bigger than his brains' and put his seat back and relaxed.

'Carol' just stared at the back of Chuck's head with an expression that morphed from fear to wonder to adoration and back again. She had been listening to the op through the bug planted on the asset by Major Casey. They all had. She and 'Bob' had been assigned to extract the asset if operation had gone sour because they both spoke Russian. She'd thought it odd when the asset, Mr. Bartowski, had asked if anyone spoke Russian but now she knew why. Jesus, who _was_ this guy?

Chuck opened the briefcase he'd started carrying and pulled out a manila envelope and removed a photograph. It was the UNFORS photo of the UN team and the militia escort. He took a red marker and put a large 'X' over the face of the driver and another over the face of Kradzav Demirovic. He traced the pad of his index finger over the face of his wife and then returned the photo to the envelope.

Three to go.  


* * *

**CIA Clinic  
Langley, VA Aug 9**

[Transcription of counseling session #15 – Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski]

"Sarah, I don't see the notebook I gave you. Did you write out the details of the assault as I asked you?"

"_No. I started to several times but I just couldn't put it down on paper. I don't know why, I just couldn't."_

"_Do you think it's because if you put it to paper you'd finally have to accept what happened and deal with it?"_

"_I don't know why I can't. I did it for the CIA after-action report so why couldn't I do it here?"_

"_Well, you used the phrase 'assault' 23 times in the CIA report and 'rape' only 3 times. You tell me."_

"_OK, OK, I get it. Denial. It's all about denying 'rape' but admitting to 'assault'. I get it. So what?"_

"_Do you know where your husband is?"_

"_Why? Has something happened to him? A relapse? What?"_

"_I'm asking you because I don't know where he is. I'm going to read you part of an email I received yesterday. Maybe you can find some comfort in it. And then we'll look at the attachments he sent."_

"They ran a clip on the outcome of the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) on the evening news the night Sarah had her flashback.

I think he is one of Sarah's attackers. I've identified the four others from UNFORS file photographs.

I'm attaching a photo of her, the 5 UN investigators and their Serbian security 'escort' taken the same day as her attack. Note the officer in charge. He's a younger version of the man in the video clip."

"_I told you he was a genius, Dr. Foster. He found the trigger, it has to be it. Oh, God, now we have something to work with instead of fumbling around in the dark."_

"_Yes, I'd say this is probably the thing that primed your flashback but we still have to deal with the triggering mechanism. But Sarah, I don't think you have to worry about any future physical relationship with your husband. Let me finish reading."_

She'll have closure and justice. Tell her I love her and will be in touch. I'll email 'progress reports' and photos for you to share with her if you feel such action is appropriate. You have our future in your hands, Dr. Foster; please don't let it slip through your fingers.

I love her. She's my life. I want to wake up next to her for the next 50 years or so, see her smiling in her sleep and know I put the smile there."

"_He still loves me and wants me, Dr. Foster, and after all this, the next 50 years won't be enough for me."_

"_Fine, Sarah. Now, sit back and watch this clip. I want you to tell me exactly what you're feeling as you view it. Hold nothing back. I'm holding your future carefully in my hands and I promise I won't let it slip through my fingers."_

[End Transcription session #15]

End Flashback9


	11. Pills for Him Rings for Her

_A/N: Getting into the almost-M parts. I will NOT be covering details of the assault so quit bugging me about it._

_APR  
_**CIA Clinic  
Langley, VA Aug 10**

* * *

[Transcription of counseling session #16 – Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski]

"_Good morning, Sarah. Any thoughts on the clip we saw yesterday?"_

"_Nothing more than we discussed yesterday. I dreamed of the attack last night but it wasn't nearly as painful or terrifying. I woke up and knew who I was and where I was. I didn't even worry that Chuck was lying beside me all bloody like before. I knew it was a dream. I guess that's progress, right?"_

"_Tell me, Sarah, when you were partnered with Bryce Larkin you were in an intimate relationship with him, weren't you?"_

"_Yes, but that was a long time ago, before I knew Chuck, well, we were still, I mean, look, I never intended to be compromised by an asset and Bryce was my partner until he went deep cover. I loved him but wasn't in love with him, can you understand? And then Chuck's damned unconscious seduction plan began chipping away at the walls, tearing down Fortress Sarah, and finally, finally I knew what I wanted. I knew who I wanted and it sure as hell wasn't a shallow, self-centered narcissist like Bryce Larkin. I wanted Chuck Bartowski."_

"_That's interesting, Sarah, but not what I was getting to. Did you ever experience this flashback or the dream when you were with him? I assume you slept in the same bed, had sex, and woke tangled up in each other just like you did with your husband. So why did you almost kill your husband but never injure Bryce."_

"_I never had the dream when I was with Bryce. I guess it's because I never had to, I mean it's, I didn't experience the trigger with Bryce. We were always immersed in the mission and I never worried about what was happening in the world outside of our mission. That was for normal people not agents."_

"_Normal people, Sarah? Are you 'normal people' now?"_

"_Sarah, what's wrong?"_

"_I – I – I guess I'm normal people now. I was waiting for my husband to get back from 'work', I was watching the news, going to go out to dinner, normal stuff, the stuff I'd always dreamed of but never thought I'd have."_

"_Then I saw the bastard who commanded the squad on the news. He was…he was the first and…and then he let the others have me. He said I was their 'reward'." _

"_I wasn't in 'agent mode', just 'normal'. Is that it? With Bryce I was always an agent but with Chuck I'm a woman with a husband? Is being in love what made me almost kill my husband?"_

"_Don't be silly, Sarah. Of course not. The clip you saw on the news was the trigger, don't you see? Once you accept what happened to you, begin to deal with it in 'normal' mode I doubt you'll ever experience another flashback. And if you do, I think it will have a definitely different outcome."_

"_Why? How can you say that with such certainty?"_

"_I just can. Call it years of experience, woman's intuition, but I'm right. Trust me, Sarah, I'm definitely right."_

"_Now, let's go back to an area we've only briefly touched on – justice, revenge, pay-backs. You've never expressed any desire for those actions. You were and still are, I remind you, an agent in the CIA. Didn't you ever think to use the Agency's resources to find these animals and bring them to justice? They raped you but they murdered 4 UN investigators. Did anything ever come of any investigation into their murders."_

"_Sarah, why are you laughing? It's not funny at all. You were raped, Sarah, repeatedly and four people from the UN were murdered and you're laughing? Please explain this."_

"_Don't you think I tried to find them? Don't you think I burned for revenge, for the pleasure of killing them? I did look. Every time I was sure I'd found them, their location and identity, the information disappeared or was wrong or was redacted. As for the UN investigation, it was just for the show, window dressing. No one cared about 5 people when thousands of bodies in mass graves were being investigated or newly discovered. It didn't matter enough to the powers that be."_

"_You said the information disappeared or had been redacted. What are you saying, Sarah? Are you saying that we, the CIA, actively blocked your investigation?"_

"_You said it, Dr. Foster, not me. I gave up after that. I got busy and my focus was elsewhere. I had deep cover missions in Western Europe and what happened was compartmentalized as I've already told you. I just never got around to dealing with it. Not until I almost killed Chuck."_

"_And now, Sarah? Do you still want revenge? Justice? Or doesn't it matter any longer?"_

"_Yes, I wanted revenge. Justice? There is no justice in this world, doctor, just varying levels of indifference. But that's behind me now. I have a future with a man I'm incredibly happy with and with whom I want to begin contributing to global warming."_

"_Um, global warming?"_

"_I want to have lots of hot, steamy sex with my husband and hopefully get pregnant. And if we don't get pregnant right away, then we'll just have hot, steamy sex and contribute to global warming. And believe me, Dr. Foster, it's going to get hot in Burbank when I finally get home, melt-the-glaciers-hot. I miss him, Dr. Foster, so much. How much longer?"_

"_I can't say, Sarah, it's up to you. It's always been up to you."_

[End Session Transcription]

Casa Bartowski

Burbank, CA

August 12 1:00am

One tiny drop of blood, about the circumference of a pencil eraser, plopped onto the intel daily sheet he was reviewing. He was flashing on White Gardenias, Robert E. Lee's portrait, the Golden Gate Bridge and file after file of mission reports from Bosnia, Serbia and the Srebrenica enclave. God, what people do to other people in the name of 'The One True God'.

Another drop, larger this time, stained the sheet but he was oblivious to it. He'd prepared himself for the 'migraine-like' headache by taking two of the tiny white pills that gave almost instantaneous relief from the pain before beginning the review. It was the only way he could get through the dailies as well as do the daily search for Sarah's attackers. The dailies and any flashes were logged and reported to CIA – Langley. Any of the 'other' flashes were also detailed, but in another file entirely.

Another drop, then another. He knew when it was time to quit. The rest of his research would use more readily available sources, the internet. He wiped his nose and upper lip with a tissue and also wiped the daily intel sheet clean, well, almost. He figured Momma Casey would see the stain and be on him like stink on shit but he didn't care.

He pushed himself away from the kitchen table, his 'office', tidied up the dailies putting them in the burn bag for destruction by one of the backup singers. It saved him a trip to the Castle and gave Casey a warm secure feeling knowing that the secret documents were 'properly disposed of'.

He had found the remaining three of Sarah's attackers. Two were easy, readily accessible, and could be picked like ripe fruit off a tree. The third and final rapist was now a delegate to their equivalent of the US House of Representatives. Apparently the people of Greater Serbia had little concern for the recent trial for Crimes Against Humanity that had ended in a null verdict in The Hague.

It had been his face that had started this, the man in the news clipping. Radovan Zdravko was a dead man walking. Hopefully, his death would bring Sarah closure and they could go back to being just 'Chuck & Sarah' first, intersect and agent, last.

He sent an email to Dr. Foster telling her of the elimination of the first of the remaining four rapists. He attached a scanned copy of the 2004 photograph showing Sarah and the UN Team of investigators and the Serbian 'escort', two of whom now had a bright red 'X' over their faces.

He was bone tired and dizzy and he knew the backup singer, Carol, was his in-house babysitter for the night. Casey had insisted that someone be in the apartment at all times with Chuck since his 'bleeds' were becoming more and more of a frequent event. Chuck thought it was bull but Casey was insistent. "Chuck, it's either have someone in the apartment or you go into the hospital. Choose."

He flicked off the kitchen light and walked over to the couch and took her wedding portrait and just looked at it. She'd been the most beautiful bride anyone had ever seen. OK, he was biased, but it had to be true. She looked radiant, deliriously happy, and the photographer had captured her best smile. God, how he missed her.

Carol walked out into the living room and hesitated before continuing on into the kitchen. She'd ordered a pizza for them for dinner but he'd just picked at his. And now she was hungry and she knew damned well he was. She just wished she'd known he was awake. She'd have worn more than her robe, probably gotten dressed.

Finally she could take the silence no longer.

"Mr. Bartowski, you have to eat something. If this isn't to your liking, I can whip up an omelet or something for you instead. This isn't healthy. Whatever's eating at you will only end up hurting you instead. Don't you special assets have a handler or someone you normally talk to when you have problems? Maybe family, a girlfriend?"

He sighed, put Sarah's portrait up, got up and went to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of beer. He opened hers, handing it to her, smiling slightly at the shocked look of surprise.

"Go ahead, drink it. I know you drink beer because it's in your file. You're not really on duty, not really, and I don't like drinking alone. It isn't healthy." He smirked when he saw her cheeks color.

"So, Carol, how do you like the CIA so far? Live up to all your expectations? Really, I'm curious. What's your opinion of the defenders of the greater good so far? There's no surveillance here and I sure as hell am not going to call Art and rat you out." He took the pizza box from her, threw a few slices on a plate and put it into the microwave to nuke.

"It's not 'Carol', Mr. Bartowski, it's Gwen, Gwen Rivers. And so far it sucks. No offense, but babysitting is not what I signed up for. I was hoping for a foreign assignment, something with meat on it. This…this is not what I figured I'd be doing." She gave him a look that said 'screw you' in so many different ways he had to laugh and that pissed her off.

"It's not funny. I graduated high enough in my class at the Farm to have had a really good posting for a new Agent. Instead, I got you and … this place."

"Well, Carol, it's like this. I'm 'special' and being around me is likely to get you and the other three backup singers killed if Fulcrum ever decides to get its act together and come after me."

"In the meantime you and Bob & Ted & Alice are here to assist me, cover my ass and make sure when I finish tilting the windmills you can put Don Quixote back on his damned pony. You four are my Sancho Panza. You want foreign intrigue, I'll give it to you in spades. Tomorrow we're leaving for Belgrade. Be careful what you wish for, Carol."

The microwave dinged and he took two plates from the cupboard and the pizza from the microwave and put them on the table.

"You know, don't you, that I asked for all four of you after reviewing The Farm's training records. You all have talents I don't and together, if you ever play nice, you four will make an excellent addition to Team Bartowski. You especially, Carol. I like pissy women. They bring out the bad boy in me."

Her eyes started to widen and she thought back to the seduction classes she'd aced but hated. What should she do now?

"Don't worry, Gwen. Although you're incredibly attractive, you're safe."

"And for Christ's sake drop the "Mr. Bartowski", it's Chuck. Just Chuck."

"So who's the girl in the wedding portrait? Ex-wife, sister, who?"

"Sarah Walker. We've been married almost 6 months."

"Oh, shit. You're married to her? Where is she? Can I meet her? My God, I'm babysitting her husband! How cool is that?" She stopped when she saw how his eyes filled with unshed tears. Unconsciously she reached across the table and took his hand in hers.

"Oh, no. She'd dead, isn't she? That's what this whole thing is about. You're finding and killing whoever killed her. I'm so sorry, Mr. Ba – I mean, Chuck. None of us had any idea."

"She's not dead! She's not! She's…in a hospital and she's getting better and no one will keep us apart, not the NSA, the CIA, no one and they better not try."

Gwen drew back, flinching from the intensity of his words, the almost desperate tone. For the first time since beginning this assignment she was afraid for her own well-being.

"But you're close to the mark, Gwen. I will be killing a lot more people. Can you handle it?"

"Yeah, you can count on your backup singers, Chuck. Vancouver was ballsy. But why'd you get sick? You're not like, dying or anything are you?" She couldn't believe she was talking to the husband of THE Sarah Walker and he was treating her like…a person, a colleague.

"Three weeks ago I was, but not now. Now the puking, bleeds, headaches, they're just subtle reminders to stay focused and sharp. That and this old fart Med-Alert bracelet."

"Well, OK, then eat your damned pizza so I don't have to tell Major "Grunt-grunt" that you blew off dinner. He was quite specific in his instructions."

"Grunt-grunt? That's great-great. Grunt-grunt…" He was laughing, so Gwen took that as a good sign.

"Belgrade? As in Serbia? Really?"

"Yep. Going to go find an orchard and pick some rotten fruit."

Later, Dr. Gwendolyn Rivers, MD, sent a special email to Director Graham and to the head of the medical team monitoring the intersect.

"Subject is in reasonably good health and spirits despite the events of the day. After eliminating target in Vancouver, subject vomited while exiting the mission site and dry-swallowed two pills for 'migraine' symptoms upon entering the vehicle. His consumption of prescribed meds has not exceeded the threshold that would require intervention. Subject's access to intersect causes bleeding from nostrils but is not unduly excessive. Subject's appetite is poor but he is eating. On two occasions I have approached subject with intent to take blood pressure readings while asleep but subject awakened enough that I had to abort attempts. This evening I laced his pizza with a sleep aid and was able to take a reading [See attachment]. Please note that the medication appears to be stabilizing the fluctuations in BP but it's 'base' remains dangerously high. Cover is still secure. Why was I not briefed on subject's wife's status?"

CIA Clinic

Langley, VA Aug 12

[Transcription of counseling session #17 – Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski]

"_Good morning, Sarah. First off, let me apologize for canceling yesterday's session but I had a patient in crisis and had to deal with an all day and all night session. But I received an interesting email and attachment from your husband. Are you sure you want to see it? The picture may bring back unpleasant memories."_

"_From Chuck? What did he say? Where is he? How is he?"_

"_He's on his way out of the country to attend a concert with Casey and his backup singers. I suppose he means the new team he's assembled. It's been the topic of discussion at the staff meetings for the past week now."_

"_A new team? But I thought I'd get to go back to him, be his handler and security again? Have I been replaced? Has __**he**__ replaced me? Doesn't he trust me any longer?"_

"_We'll discuss that in a few minutes. Do you want to see the photograph?"_

"_Yes."_

"_My God, he's killed one of them. My Chuck who wouldn't even step on a bug but who'd shoo it out of the apartment. He's killed someone. But how did he know? I mean, the photo is old and those men must have dispersed all over the Balkans by now. They're war criminals with a price on their heads. And it's not because of us, it's because of the 700 murdered Bosniaks."_

"_I think being the intersect has something to do with it. After all, everything ever done by the CIA and NSA and the State Department's Intelligence Service as well as the DIA is in there in some form. It's like the Great Library of Alexandria in his head. Amazing."_

"_It's a curse on him. It's given him no joy, no happiness, no peace, just pain and suffering."_

"_Well, it gave him __**you**__, Sarah, didn't it? So it can't have been totally a curse for him."_

"_It's the reason I found him, but I've seen it cause him more grief and heartache than most people get in their entire lifetime. Look what I did to him. It never would have happened if that damned thing hadn't been forced into his head."_

"_So you're sorry you met him, fell in love and married him?"_

"_Oh, no, no. I meant – yes, I guess I'm sorry he was hurt as a result of our meeting but I'm not sorry at all that we're married. Never. I just wish it could have been more conventional, like meeting at a coffee shop or a blind date."_

"_Normal, again, Sarah?"_

"_Yeah. Normal. Is every time I have some monumental epiphany going to add to my time here? Our discussions just seem all over the map and I don't see us staying on any one subject long enough to resolve anything and then move on and conquer the next issue. Care to comment, doctor?"_

"_You'll leave here when you're able to leave, Sarah, when the demons have been purged and you're right-minded again. It's all up to you. Now speaking of epiphanies, we touched on one the other day that I'd like to discuss. Your wedding. I take it you did things quietly, perhaps sneaking away? It's what an agent protecting a valuable asset would want to do, I would think."_

"_Well, you don't know my husband very well. There we were, sitting around the living room discussing wedding plans and options, the four of us, Chuck, Ellie, Devon and I, well, the three of us coming up with all these quickie ideas when Chuck just said 'NO'. Just quietly almost whispered 'no'. Well, you could have heard a pin drop, even on the carpeted floor."_

"_He didn't want to get married? Objected to the secrecy? What?"_

"_He objected to running off to Vegas, secrecy, a plain dress wedding in front of a judge, all the things that we'd discussed with the idea of 'plain and quick'. He said he wanted me in a white dress and veil, in a church with wedding portraits, even if it was just going to be the four of us in attendance. He said he wanted me in white, and wanted me to have my 'little girl's wedding'. It was the sweetest thing and made both Ellie and I cry. He was adamant and he got his way."_

"_So, I don't see you wearing a ring. Was that a sacrifice to the CIA's need for secrecy?"_

"_No. I – I think your people took them when I arrived. My watch, wedding ring, my engagement ring. I think your people have them, at least I hope so. I really don't remember all that much of my first few hours here, or the first day or so really."_

"_Not surprising. You were drugged up pretty good for the flight here. Sarah, you were hysterical when you saw your husband in ICU. You wouldn't stop screaming that you'd killed your husband, that the damned CIA had killed your husband. You were sedated and brought here. You were 'uncooperative' during the initial hours after your admittance, demanding that we release your husband and let you see him."_

"_Sounds like I won't miss remembering any of that. But what of my rings? The watch isn't important. Can you find out what happened to my rings? Please?"_

"_You'll find your sister-in-law packed a bag for you and it's been put in your quarters, your rings and watch are in the suitcase. Lose the hospital gown, Sarah, and get dressed. While you're still a resident patient here, there's no danger of you running off and killing yourself, so lose the gown and feel free to use the cafeteria. You're on limited restrictions for now. You're making great progress. I'll talk with you tomorrow."_

[End transcription – Session #17]

_A/N: Taking tomorrow off and getting another opinion... screw 'em. I'm the one who has the black wiggly things floating around and the flashes around the edges. Was OK when I was drinking but now it's annoying. Wednesday for sure._

APR


	12. Lose the Gown & Arrive in New Town

Flashback11

_A/N: I told you people less angst. See I was right. A happy tripe chapter. By the way, what the hell is a 'mary sue' and what is a 'crack fic'? Inquiring minds want to know._

_APR  


* * *

_

**CIA Clinic  
Langley, VA  
Aug 13**

[Transcription of counseling session #18 – Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski]

"_Sarah, you must feel better wearing your own clothes. And the rings look nice. Now, I'd like to touch on something you mentioned yesterday, about his new team."_

"_I'm afraid he doesn't trust me anymore. Casey and I were more than enough in the past. Why does he seem to think he needs more protection, doctor? Is this his reaction to my attacking him?"_

"_I told you the selection of his new team members was the talk of the daily staff meetings. He supposedly required two mixed teams, fresh from the Farm. One of his teams didn't even finish their training and were 3 days short of graduation. The word is that Chuck refers to them as Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice. That's an old movie from the 70s. I think I'll try to find it on-line and watch it. See if it gives me some insights into his thought processes."_

"_But why does he need such a large team? They're inexperienced, they won't know what to do, they probably aren't cleared for intersect information and now they're off on a road trip? I don't know what he's thinking and I can't believe Graham and Casey are OK with this."_

"_Well, I'll tell you one thing, in confidence, Graham pitched a fit about something in California then sent down the order to pick the teams and get them vetted and out there ASAP. I think your husband doesn't trust the CIA, Sarah. I think he's figured out already that a lot of the information he'll need has to come from sources other than the intersect. His approach is certainly unconventional."_

"_Dr. Foster, you have no idea what my husband is capable of. He has a cause, a mission, a vendetta. Those poor new agents are going to get 10 years experience in the next couple of weeks if they survive. If Chuck were a soldier, he'd be an unconventional warfare specialist. He's always thinking outside the box. He'll rattle their cages but then win them over with victory. Watch and see if I'm not right."_

"_Well, the Vancouver operation has rattled a few cages, that's for sure and the Agency shrinks and medics are all over the reports from the on-site agents as well as his teams."_

"_They're spying on him? His team members are spying on him? What ever for? He turns in reports and never omits a single detail."_

"_Not spying, reporting. I think Chuck's approach to this problem is being viewed with great interest. The medics are concerned because of some troubling feedback on his interaction with the intersect. You know you fractured his skull, Sarah, a depressed skull fracture. He stayed in the hospital longer than would be expected because of blood pressure issues." _

"_You deserve to know the truth: they're waiting to see if he can do his missions without suffering a stroke. Everyone in Medical and Psych are very concerned."_

"_Oh, why haven't they brought him in? Why are they letting him run around with a bomb in his brain? Aren't you doctors bound by an Oath or something? What are you letting him do to himself? He's one of a kind – he's the intersect."_

"_One of his backup singers __is__ a doctor, Sarah, substituted at the last minute by Director Graham because of his concerns for Chuck's health and safety. Yes, because he's the intersect, but although he'll deny it until the day he dies, Graham genuinely likes your husband and is concerned with his welfare. Why do you think General Beckman has been noticeably absent from dealing with you and Chuck since your marriage? Graham's doing."_

"_Does Chuck know about the substitution? Is he aware he's being constantly monitored? He's not stupid."_

"_The doctor has completed training at the Farm and was supposed to go deep cover but was pulled for this op. She's less than thrilled but has been so impressed so far that she's actively supporting the mission."_

"_She? I suppose she's a damned short brunette. What is it with Chuck and brunettes. I may just dye my hair…"_

"_Oh, so do you feel threatened, Sarah? Should we explore your jealousy issues while we're at it?"_

"_Nope. It's just that his last two girl friends and his old fiancé, they were all brunettes. I'm the mold-buster. I'm the only blonde."_

"_Well, I'll try and find out Dr. Rivers' hair color if it will make you sleep easier."_

"_Screw you, Dr. Foster. I'll sleep just fine so wipe the smirk off your face."_

"_I'll see you tomorrow, Sarah. Perhaps I'll be able to 'borrow' some of the reports on Chuck's mission and performance to give you something to read at night."_

[End transcription session 18]

**Belgrade, Serbia  
Nikola Tesla Airport  
August 15 2am local time**

The 16 hours spent flying from Los Angeles or in airports had taken a toll on the team. Casey was cranky, Chuck was moody, not having slept as much as he'd have liked, and the four backup singers were almost comatose. Carol had sat next to Casey for part of the flight from Heathrow to Belgrade and then had switched with Ted and sat next to Chuck for the remainder of the flight. Although he was dozing, she noted a blood-stained tissue in his hand and several stuffed into the empty plastic beverage container they'd all received with their meal.

"So, Chuck, how you doing? Got everything planned out for us?"

"Need to do some recon, some sightseeing, plot out the targets' locations then we'll all get together and strategize our approach. Vancouver was easy, really. Here we'll need Alice's expertise and probably an assist from your partner, Bob. He's been here while studying architecture one summer. I'm hoping his knowledge of the city will enable us to cut some corners."

"Bob's an architect? What's he doing, um, y'know."

"He changed majors after 9-11 and a short hitch in the Army. He was medically discharged but is 100% again. He doesn't speak the local lingo but Alice does."

"So you picked each of us for a special skill? What's mine?" She was curious to see what her alter ego's specialty was and whether it would be a crippling blow to the mission if her 'skill' were needed.

"Medicine. Dr. Gwen Rivers, MD, class of 2004 Harvard Med. Or didn't you think I'd double-check the bona fides of the team after assignment? Don't look so shocked. I know I'm on borrowed time. It's obvious. You're here to shut me down if things go bad." He didn't look at her at all, just looked off into the distance to the aircraft bulkhead.

"Are you mad, Chuck? I really am a trained agent. Really. I won't let you down." She was suddenly uneasy with this man who seemed to be so…normal and yet according to her briefing from Director Graham was anything but.

"Nah, just don't come at me with needles. And next time you want to take my BP, just ask me. I hate the after-taste of your sleeping powders. Made the pizza taste like crap, too. You better let Casey know though. He's the one who vetted you guys initially. This will give him another reason to hate and distrust the CIA."

When they cleared customs and caught cabs to their hotel, Casey took Chuck aside to talk. "OK, why didn't you tell me about Carol being a plant, Chuck? Did you know? Don't you think I should have known? Hell, don't start having trust issues now."

"I honestly thought you knew, John. I thought it was overkill but I want to get this done and get Sarah out of that hospital. Closure might speed up her treatment and her return. But, I have no trust issues with any of them or with you. It's the CIA database information I find…lacking. NSA seems pretty complete as does DIA and State, but CIA should have more on these guys but doesn't. So either someone took the data out or it's been buried in the files under a bad cue."

"Well, let's get to the hotel and get things organized. We're all tired and jet lag will impact us tomorrow for sure. Let's arrange a meeting at noon and then go from there. Maybe the intel from the CIA Station Chief will have the missing information you need. I'll swing over there before the meeting and check in with my counterpart. See what we can see."

By the time they got to their rooms it was nearly 4am local time. Chuck took two of the white pills and a shower and slept dreaming of the three men he'd come to kill and flashing on their files again and again.  


* * *

**Gran Konstantin Hotel  
Belgrade, Serbia  
August 15 11:30am local time**

Gwen Rivers knocked on Chuck's door. If she'd been outed as the team doctor, she was going to _be_ the team doctor. Impatient with her patient, she banged on the huge oak door without result. She stomped back to her room and called his room. No answer. Now she was concerned. She went and pounded on Major Casey's door and explained the situation to a half-dressed Casey who threw on shoes and a shirt and walked with her to Chuck's room.

He used his NSA 'passkey' and opened the door. Chuck was still asleep, arm over his eyes.

Casey shook him by the shoulder. "Chuck, wake up. It's 11:30 and we have a 12 noon 'meeting' in the restaurant downstairs. C'mon, wake up, Chuck."

"He shouldn't be this unresponsive, Major. Something's wrong. Help me get him into a better position so I can examine him. His nose bled during the night. I thought it was only when he flashed?"

"Sometimes when he dreams he flashes. Can't help it and he can't control it. Weirdest thing is, some of the flashes are really detailed and insightful while others are just garbage. He tried to explain it to me once but after 'full prismatic fractal recognition' I was lost."

She opened a small travel case and took out a blood pressure cuff and took his pressure. "It's not dangerously high, but it's high enough to warrant upping his dosage of Heparin. I don't need to stress to you the danger he faces from internal bleeding on the dosage he's currently on. Blood thinners are a double-edged sword. The blood doesn't carry as much hemoglobin nor does it have the same clotting rate in the event of an injury. While this new dosage will reduce or maintain the status quo on his BP issues, it will exacerbate those blood issues. If this continues, I'll have to recommend to Director Graham that the mission be scrubbed or delayed."

Chuck stirred when the BP cuff inflated and deflated.

"Why are you people always bugging me when I'm trying to sleep? Jesus, Gwen, I'm hardly dressed to entertain a lady. And Casey? Are you indulging your voyeuristic tendencies again?" He was still groggy from sleep and he knew he needed to watch his mouth.

"Chuck, I pounded on your door, called your room, and so did Casey but you didn't wake up. How are you feeling?"

"Dead tired, like I haven't slept in days but no headache and no blurred vision, no hearing disorders, no weakness in the limbs. I cannot, however, tell you if my pupils are even and reactive since I don't have a mirror handy. Did I miss anything?"

"No, wiseass, you covered just about everything. Now, get showered and dressed. We have a team meeting in the restaurant in 30 minutes."

"No, let's have it here. Just wake me when they get here and I'll monitor your presentation, Major. I'm not hungry anyways."

"Chuck, out of bed or I'll go find Tom to help Major Casey haul you into the shower…and turn the water on cold."

"All doctors are sadists. Without exception. Especially the women. Needle-happy sadists. Back off, people, leave and give me some privacy. I'll be down in a few minutes."  


* * *

**CIA Clinic  
Langley, VA Aug 15**

[Transcription of counseling session #19 – Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski]

_Sarah read the email copy that the doctor handed her without a word._

"Subject is in reasonably good health and spirits despite the events of the day. After eliminating target in Vancouver, subject vomited while exiting the mission site and dry-swallowed two pills for 'migraine' symptoms upon entering the vehicle. His consumption of prescribed meds has not exceeded the threshold that would require intervention. Subject's access to intersect causes bleeding from nostrils but is not unduly excessive. Subject's appetite is poor but he is eating. On two occasions I have approached subject with intent to take blood pressure readings while asleep but subject awakened enough that I had to abort attempts. This evening I laced his pizza with a sleep aid and was able to take a reading [See attachment]. Please note that the medication appears to be stabilizing the fluctuations in BP but it's 'base' remains dangerously high. Cover is still secure. Why was I not briefed on subject's wife's status?"

"_He threw up after killing a man, doctor, not because he was ill. I know my husband. This vendetta will take a toll on him. It will alter his perception of events in the future as well as affect him emotionally. He's not a killer. His reaction to his actions speaks for itself. He's a kind and decent man who's only doing what he thinks is necessary for me. For me, not the CIA, or the greater good. That couples counseling sounds like a good deal to me right now. He needs to give this up and come home. He's too precious to waste on revenge. It's not what I need. I need __him__, home and healthy."_

"_No comment on her question regarding 'wife's status'?"_

"_No. None at all. I know how the Agency works. 'Need to know' and all that. I'm not sure she's reporting the situation in its entirety. I think Chuck said or did something when I was mentioned and she's reacting to it. With this little information, there's nothing we can know for certain."_

"_Well, this report should at least ease your mind about his physical health since as I understand it, he's taking his meds, at least eating something, and the team physician has had an opportunity to examine him and report back."_

"_I'd prefer the report state that subject had abandoned his plans and was going to Virginia to be with his wife but that wouldn't be the Chuck I know. Once he gets his teeth into something, once he's made up his mind, nothing short of divine intervention will stop him."_

"_Sarah, what are your plans for the rest of the day?"_

"_You're kidding, right? Plans? I'm in a mental hospital, Dr. Foster, my plans are very fluid and ill-defined but escape is not one of them if that's what you're hinting at."_

"_It's not a mental hospital, Sarah, it's a CIA clinic. If you used the common room you'd see that. We have injured and wounded agents, agents' dependents, and a regular clinic with long-term patient care. But the reason I asked is that if you're free, how about joining me for lunch in Alexandria this afternoon? I told you that you were not a prisoner."_

"_You mean, outside, in public? Hell, yes!"_

"_Good. I'll swing by your room about 11:00"_

End transcription session #19

A/N: Short but it's all I have an eye for.


	13. Dreams Do Come True Sometimes

_Mooncow33 – here's your happy 'ending' although it's far from over so enjoy it while you can._

Armor-Plated-Rat  


* * *

**Gran Konstantin Hotel Restaurant  
Belgrade, Serbia  
August 15 12:15pm local time**

To the casual observer the group seated at the rear of the restaurant was either a small, guided tour group or a group of foreign business people deep in discussion broken by the occasional laugh.

Chuck passed out copies of the picture taken on the day of the murders and Sarah's rape.

"And so, people, that's why we're here. It's OK if anyone thinks it's selfish and a waste of government resources, I've had that mental argument with myself for days and I always end up saying 'so what, it's justice for those people – and my wife, one of your fellow agents.' So if any of you have second thoughts, I'll figure out how to work around your missing skill set and you can go spend mission time in the embassy with no fear of repercussions. Neither Casey or I work that way."

No one said a word and he was surprised to find that there were actually smiles among the young agents.

"Skill set? What special skills do a bunch of newly hatched agents have that you guys don't?" Bob asked that question and was not surprised to find everyone looking to Chuck for the answer.

"Well, OK, Bob, you were here as a student studying architecture and you know your way around the city according to your thesis. Alice, you speak Serbian and another dialect and you also have a personal connection to Sarajevo and Srebrenica and you're deadly with handguns. Ted is a whiz at 'obtaining necessary items without regard to source' and we may need things we couldn't carry or bring into the country."

They all looked at each other and then at Carol with questioning looks and raised eyebrows.

"Carol is here for window dressing. And she's an MD and a fully-trained agent. If we have to go into a 'social setting' then Carol and I will go as a couple for a few reasons. First, she's a doctor and I'm not. Second, she's a crack shot and I'm not. Third, she'll distract people with her looks and I sure as hell won't."

The group laughed and Carol blushed and even Casey smiled at the way his asset put people at ease. He wished he could do that but knew he was a hammer and every situation he encountered was a nail.

"Now, our first target is the man third from the left, Dragisc Mredivic. Intel from the station chief that Casey got this morning indicates he's a 'person of interest' to the Agency because of his relationship with the Scorpions and because he has a lot of cash and access to weapons stocks of the Serbian Militia and is not above pushing guns for dope, money or women. Oh, yes, sex sells in this part of the world. Women are abducted and 'sold' and end up all over Europe and the Middle East. Don't look shocked. You think slavery ended in 1865?" There was a hard edge to his voice that no one could mistake as anything other than disgust and anger.

He nodded to Casey who took over the briefing. To the casual observer it looked like the fun part of the meeting was over because all the participants took out pads and pens.

"Dragisc Mredivic is one of the lesser crime bosses in Greater Serbia. His past history in the Serbian Scorpion Militia has enabled him to retain contacts with his old comrades who now occupy important places in the government as well as providing him with a well-established network of spies and informants. Do not underestimate this man. To do so might shorten your budding careers."

"Our plan is to contact him, set up a meeting at some remote location and offer him the opportunity to work with some rogue CIA agents who have access to weapons captured in Afghanistan and elsewhere as well as means of obtaining raw opium from the poppy fields. They would 'warehouse' his stock until the sale was made and then transfer the weapons or opium to the buyer upon receipt of a confirmed deposit in the Caymans."

"Chuck and Alice and I will be at the meet. The rest of you will be providing over watch. This op is off the books as far as the embassy and Agency are concerned. Just like 'Mission Impossible'."

Tom asked in a quiet voice what they were all thinking. "Rogue agents, Maj…I mean, John. Isn't that a little far-fetched?"

"No, it isn't. There are organizations within our own country that are at war with the government intelligence community. Anyone ever heard of Fulcrum? Thought not. Welcome to the real world, kiddies. Team Bartowski has eliminated several of their cells. Traitors and turncoats and moles at the highest levels. It's true, and this guy will take the bait hook, line and sinker. Because Chuck is Fulcrum for this phase of the operation."

"Casey goes as my muscle and Alice as my interpreter if needed but also as the eye candy distraction – no offense intended, Alice. It's just how it is to be perceived by him."

"None taken, Mr. Ba…I mean, Chuck. It's how it's done. I'm a big girl and this is kind of my own neighborhood. It will be good to remove another Scorpion piece of shit from the face of the earth. Very good. You shall have whatever you need from me. It was not just Muslims who were persecuted. We Jews have been hunted down as sport for centuries."

Alice was a petite, raven-haired woman her early 30s, old for a new agent, with black eyes and a ready smile that hadn't appeared since the briefing began. Her family had immigrated to the US in the 60s but she had had relatives who had disappeared in the purges and cleansings during the Bosnian conflict. She would be the first to admit to being afraid but also the first to volunteer. She hadn't, but that didn't mean she wouldn't have if offered the opportunity.

Alice smiled at Chuck and he was amazed at the change. Gone was the stiff face with its coldly distant elegance and rigid posture and in its place was a beautiful girl years younger with laughter in her eyes. God, how he missed Sarah.  


* * *

The meeting was ridiculously easy to set up. The CIA Station Chief had Mredivic's cell phone number. Apparently they'd done business before. Chuck immediately cautioned Casey. "John, the Station Chief may be playing both sides of the fence. He doesn't have a good reason to have Mredivic's cell at his fingertips – unless they've done business or he's a paid CIA informant. What do you think?"

"I think everyone in the CIA above field agent is on someone's payroll. What's the reading from the intersect?"

"The Station Chief is an old-timer, been around since Reagan and has a good record, but nothing spectacular. He's on his last overseas tour then a quiet retirement. His wife is dead and his kids are adults with their own problems. He's an alcoholic but he's never been written up for it. I think we can risk it."

Alice made the initial contact, introducing herself as an assistant to Mr. Reynolds, and would he be interested in meeting discretely to establish negotiations for a business arrangement handling 'poppy extracts' and 'related equipment'?

Mredivic had suggested they meet at his office but Alice said that they knew he was a 'person of interest' to the CIA and they could not afford to be seen dealing with him in a public place. He understood, reading between the lines that greedy American CIA agents with access to opium and weapons wished to set up an arrangement. He could smell the money and readily agreed. The Salva Bridge at 2am, mid-span, Reynolds, his assistant and a bodyguard. Mredivic agreed easily to the same escort.

The Salva Bridge spanned the Danube River and was hundreds of years old. It possessed the old construction of heavy towers and battlements as well as high stone works on either side. It was a perfect place to meet since the access routes from both ends could be seen from mid-span and this reduced the possibilities of treachery.  


* * *

**Gran Konstantin Hotel  
Belgrade, Serbia  
August 15 8:30pm local time**

Casey, Alice and Chuck met in Chuck's room to go over the operational details. Gwen Rivers joined them saying she wanted to run Chuck's vitals for her nightly report. This caused quite a few raised eyebrows until Chuck explained her 'real' role in the operation – his personal nagging physician as well as Director Graham's snitch.

"Chuck, I'm just doing my job, just like the rest of you. Now, quit bitching and roll up your sleeve. I have a vitamin booster for you since you refuse to eat sensibly. How many pills have you taken today? Did you write them down? "

"See, Alice? Nag, nag, nag. I told you I hate needles. Don't you have those little Flintstone vitayums? You know I hate needles. Yes, mom, I took 6 pills today and yes, I logged them. And I'll take two more tonight before the meeting since I'll… immediately have a headache."

"Your blood pressure is still elevated. Knock of the salty foods, beer, anything fried. I need you to sleep until pre-mission briefing. Casey can handle the routine stuff. You need to sleep, Chuck, or I'll pull the plug on the mission."

"Need further proof, Alice? Nag, nag, nag. OK, Casey, wake me when it's time to go. Out, all of you. I need my sleep according to Dr. Carol the Quack."

He was tired and appreciated her attempts to get him some extra sack time. He was always tired, it seemed but at least the headache had gone away. Chuck was asleep before the door closed.

In the hallway, Gwen stopped Casey. "Major, his blood pressure is not stabilizing and tonight's mission is ill advised for someone in his condition. You know I'll pull the damned plug on this in a heartbeat if his BP doesn't stabilize at a lower level. He's maxed on the heparin, the 'vitamin' shot I gave him, and the anti-migraine medications. Either he slows down or it's over. You need to decide which is more important: him alive or those bastards dead."  


* * *

**Alexandria, VA  
Aug 1511:30am local time**

Sarah Walker was enjoying the hell out of sitting in a car watching the landscape pass by. The doctor's offer of 'lunch' stunned her and she wasn't sure she wasn't dreaming.

Normal. Things looked so normal here. The busy highway could be Burbank, the people, Californians pursuing their daily lives, going here and there without a thought about anything or anyone other than what they were doing. Amazing.

She knew this was a test of some kind, an evaluation of something she couldn't figure out. There was no other reason for their impromptu 'lunch' other than as a part of her treatment.

"Well, Sarah, how does it feel to be out among the 'normal' people?" Dr. Foster was not evaluating her answers. She was genuinely curious. It had been a long time since she'd been in Sarah Walker's role – an agent – a long time. When the head physician of the Psych group had read out the newest patient, she'd demanded that the 'Walker Case' be assigned to her. Her boss knew better than to deny her request. He, too, knew her history.

"Another trick question, Dr. Foster? Well, it feels fabulous. I feel so relaxed. Simply fabulous. But why the lunch? Aren't you afraid I'll wig out and start using my butter knife to slice and dice imaginary enemies?"

"Oh! Maybe I should find a sushi bar then. I had a craving for steak and a salad but maybe a 'knifeless' environment would be better." She said this with a smile and a laugh.

"Sushi? No. Steak and salad. I'll eat with my fingers if you'll do steak and salad. I'm so tired of the 'balanced meals' hospitals serve. At home, our culinary skills start and stop with breakfast and sandwiches. Dinner is a standing joke at our place. We put the take-out menus in a pile, and then reach in without looking and voila! Dinner for two."

They both laughed. She knew few active agents who cooked. Mostly it was a question of time and availability of ingredients. Being subject to immediate travel, agents couldn't stock the pantry or refrigerator with much unless they relished returning to rotten food.

"So what's a typical breakfast like at the Bartowski estates?"

"Chuck makes me blueberry pancakes. I'm a sucker for blueberry pancakes. He says him mom always made them for him and his sister on Sundays. I think it's his 'comfort' food and I love them. And him. How much longer, Dr. Foster?"

"About ten minutes. The restaurant is just ahead and over a block." Sarah didn't notice the stricken look on her shrink's face.

"No, I meant how much longer until I can go home? I miss home. I miss what we had and I want it back. I want him back. Can't you force a cancellation of this quest of his saying I'm relapsing or something? I just have this horrible feeling something will go wrong and I'll never see him again."

"That's up to you, Sarah. It's always been up to you. Are you ready to go home? Are you ready to face him knowing that you almost killed him? Are you ready to sleep – together - not you in a hotel and him in your apartment?"

"I think so. No, I'm certain. I've had the dream and I wake up knowing where I am, who I am. I'm not terrified to look over at the other side of the bed because I know he isn't there. I know that even if he were there he'd be asleep, smiling or drooling, not a bloody mess, gasping that he loved me and to please… to please stop." She wiped at the tears with the back of her hand.

"I want to go home, doctor. Can you understand that? Can you? I want to have the damned dream and roll over and wrap myself around Chuck and go back to sleep, secure in his arms. Is that so damned much to ask?"

"No, it isn't. Not at all, Sarah." Dr. Phyllis Foster checked her mirror and made a u-turn across four lanes and headed for the beltway and Reagan International Airport. She used her cell and called the unit secretary and told her to process the items on her list and out-process the Agent. She hung up and smiled at Sarah and gripped her hand. "You're not going home, Sarah, you're going to Belgrade to be with Chuck. He needs to finish this and you need to watch his ass, understand?"

Sarah just stared at her, unblinking. And then a slow smile lit up the car. "That's it? I – I – can go to him?"

"Of course. I told you it was always up to you, Sarah. You just had to make the commitment, acknowledge what happened and then accept what _is._ Now, your suitcase is in the trunk, you're ticketed through to Belgrade. There's an envelope containing your passport, visa, your wallet and cash and credit cards. There's also a report on Chuck and the op planned for…about right now. His hotel information is enclosed. Major Casey will be made aware of your impending arrival and will probably meet you at the airport. Any questions?"

"None. Thank you, Dr. Foster. Thank you for giving us our lives back."

"It was the least I could do."

Dr. Foster, MD watched as the slender blonde entered the departure area of the airport and pulled her Taurus out into traffic and drove back to Langley.

Sarah Bartowski boarded a Delta flight for Frankfort with connections to Vienna and Belgrade. She was going to end this mad quest and bring her husband home. She didn't need revenge or even that most illusive of concepts – justice. She needed a curly haired nerd who just happened to be the intersect and her husband and that was enough for her.

A/N: Evil revelations. Will Sarah find Chuck and Alice and Dr. Gwen in the shower doing the tripartite 'wild thing'?


	14. Double Taps and Raging Hormones

_A/N: Pay attention to the characters. Especially among the backup singers.  
_

_Armor-Plated-Rat_  


* * *

**Gran Konstantin Hotel  
Belgrade, Serbia  
August 16 4:30am local time**

Sitting in the middle of the Salva Bridge at 2am, the first thing Chuck noticed was that the 'Blue Danube' was not blue but a sluggish brown river carrying Central Europe's topsoil to the sea. The second thing he noticed was that Alice had slipped her hand into his and her palm was sweaty. He glanced over at her and saw her gnawing at her lower lip, her eyes wide open and her face pale.

He leaned over and whispered, "Hey, a little fear is a good thing. It keeps you sharp as knives and ready for anything. I'm just glad I went to the bathroom before we left." She looked over at him and smiled tightly and whispered back, "I wish I'd thought of that." Casey glanced back into the rear view mirror and wondered what they were laughing quietly about.

A few minutes later Dragisc Mredivic arrived in a Mercedes and slowed and then stopped beside the Mercedes SUV that Tom had 'acquired' for the mission. Nodding to Casey he put the vehicle in park and got out along with two associates, big associates, damned big associates.

Casey whispered, "Showtime" and got out as did Chuck and Alice. Chuck stepped forward and extended his hand in greeting while Alice provided the introductions in Serbian. Casey stood beside and behind the group, his hands clearly in view. So far, so good.

It turned out that Mredivic spoke passable English, not that it mattered. Alice took a step back from Chuck as a dutiful woman would and a step behind him. Since it was summer, no one was wearing a coat and Chuck had opted for casual jeans and an untucked Henley. Alice reached up under the back of the Henley and took the silenced Glock and Beretta from his waistband. To an observer it looked like she was rubbing his back. A true 'associate'.

Alice stepped out and shot the two damned big associates in the head and handed Chuck the silenced Glock. It had happened so quickly that Casey hadn't had a chance to even take his pistol from behind his back. Alice was definitely not from Wonderland.

Chuck took the Glock and aimed for Mredivic's crotch first and said to him, "You murdered a group of UN investigators and then raped the remaining investigator. The wheel has turned and now it's your turn."

The first shot hit him in the crotch, the second in the stomach as he crumpled over and the final one was through the left eye as he lay screaming on the road surface, but not right away.

Chuck squatted down next to the writhing ex-Scorpion and tapped his head with the barrel of the Glock to get his attention. He smiled at the man as he blubbered prayers and clutched at his abdomen and ruined groin. "Crawl over here, maggot. I have something for the pain. Hurts, doesn't it, Dragisc? Hurts a lot. Burns, doesn't it? Well, soon you'll be in Hell along with the others. You raped my WIFE." The last word was practically a scream and the pffft of the silenced 9mm bullet tearing into his eye socket and out the rear of his head was the only sound after the abrupt cessation of Mredivic's blubbering prayers.

Chuck wiped his hand across his nose and upper lip and then wiped the blood off onto Mredivic's shirt.

"I hope that hurt – a lot." Turning to Casey and Alice, he motioned them into the Mercedes SUV and turned and put the remainder of the magazine into the dead rapist. Getting into the Mercedes he made a 'move it' motion with his hand.

Two down and two to go.

There was no vomiting this time probably because he'd taken the two white pills before leaving the hotel or maybe because he was getting used to killing. There was just the nosebleed because he'd flashed on all three of the Serbians and the inevitable tears because he feared he _was _getting used to killing.

Alice took his hand in hers and squeezed it and laid her head on his shoulder, offering what comfort she could. She felt nothing but satisfaction but could understand his tears. He was still who he'd always been, just a little older and wiser and sadder. Revenge was a double-edged sword. She hoped the woman he was doing this for appreciated the cost of his sacrifice.

When they'd returned to the Hotel, Tom had taken the SUV and returned it to where he'd 'borrowed' it, the owner none the wiser.

When all the backup singers were back, Casey called them all to Chuck's room for the debriefing. Alice sat beside Chuck on his bed, still holding his hand and Gwen dropped her Carol persona and attacked her patient with questions and the damned blood pressure cuff.

"Do you have a headache? Blurred vision? Ringing in the ears? Weakness in the extremities? Any numbness or tingling?"

"Yes, no, no, no and finally, no, Carol. The headache is almost gone. I took the pills knowing I'd…um…have a headache so it's going, going, almost gone, OK? I'm fine. The mission went down like planned and you all have my thanks. Alice, especially, although I think she needs to apologize to Casey for ruining his evening. If you didn't get to see it, well, it happened so fast I almost didn't see it and I was looking for it. A double-tap to the heads faster than I can say it."

"Yeah, I didn't even have a chance to draw my weapon and it was all over but the final scene. Chuck, even I wouldn't have made him crawl like you did. Man, that was cold. Righteous, but cold. Remind me not to mess with Sarah."

"Major Casey, I need to speak with you in the hallway, please?" Gwen made a motion towards the door after undoing the blood pressure cuff and putting it back in her bag.

"Chuck, go over the reports with them and then you and I can compile them for Langley in the morning for email transmission. Good job, everyone." He left the room with Gwen.

"Major, this stops right now. He's ready to blow. I'll bet he suffers an aneurysm by this time tomorrow. He's killing himself and damn you, you're letting him. I thought you told me you were his friend? Are you going to let your friend commit suicide? Because that's what you're doing if he isn't in a hospital soon. He needs to slow down, sleep for a few days, rest for a few weeks and get his BP out of the red zone or he'll be making her a widow."

"Fine. YOU tell him because he sure as hell won't listen to me. You have no idea who he is, what he is. The entire CIA is at his beck and call right now, understand? He won't listen. You do something. I sure as hell am out of ideas. If it was this bad, why the hell did they let him out of the hospital?"

"I don't know but I damned sure will find out. Now, I'm going to shoo those fools out of there and give him a sedative, a big one. He'll sleep until this time tomorrow if we're lucky. And if we're really lucky, he'll wake up in an intensive care unit at the embassy instead of in a bag in the embassy morgue."

Casey told her to hold that thought and answered his cell.

"Casey, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. Casey, I'm in Vienna and will be in Belgrade at 9am your time. Can you pick me up? How is he, Casey, really? Please, I have to know. I can't wait to see him."

"Hang on a sec…wait, um, call me back in five minutes."

He hung up the phone. "Gwen, that was his wife. She's out of the hospital and in Vienna and will be here at 9am. Can you just slip him a little one to keep him out until she gets here? I think we just got our solution. Once she finds out his condition, he's toast, believe me."

"Great. I'll just reduce the dosage and estimate his wake-up time. Really? Sarah Walker's coming here? Here?" The last part sounded like one of Elvis' groupies.

"Yeah. And you'll all get to meet her in your role as his doc but woe to the backup singer who mentions her rape. I'll kill him or her. Chuck doesn't need it nor does she, understand? Spread the word."

Gwen went back into Chuck's room and announced that whatever was going on could wait until the noon briefing but that she had to speak with each of them before they could turn in for the evening. The noon briefing would be held as usual but would be just a summary of this evening's activities.

"Casey, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. What's going on, Casey, is something wrong?"

"No, that was just Chuck's doc giving me the low down on his status after the post-mission physical. He's doing… shit, Sarah, I'm glad you called and am even gladder you're coming. Gwen, that's Carol the background singer who's also his doc, and I just had it out about his status."

"What about his status, John? I've been out of the loop. How is he? More importantly, where is he? Is he there? Can I please speak with him, John? I really need to hear his voice. I've missed him so much, and you too, NSA thug."

"His blood pressure is through the roof and the doc's pulling the plug on the operation. She says it's bad and she wants him comatose for a month or so. I think she's overreacting but it's really not my call. My orders are superceded by hers. But here's the thing, she's just shot him up with a 'vitamin cocktail laced with something to put him to sleep so he'll be out when you get here. I'm sure you can imagine a wake up surprise for him that won't kill him." There was an evil, evil grin on his face.

"I'm flying in Lufthansa, please meet me. You can fill me in on the way to the hotel. Just make damned sure we're not bothered by his team. I've already heard about him and 'Carol'."

"Well, now you can add 'Alice' to the list of adoring acolytes. I'll fill you in when I pick you up."

"Good. Don't be late, John, please?"

Gwen sent the team members out telling them to see Casey and then asked Alice to please excuse her so she could examine her patient in detail as well as prepare his vitamin injection. Alice looked at Chuck and grinned, squeezed the hand she'd only released once since the bridge and left.

"So what's with you and Alice. You _are _married, y'know, Chuck."

"She was scared to death and had me in a death grip while we were waiting for them on the bridge and then just fell into 'agent mode' and now she's wrestling with her conscience. She killed two men she didn't know and she's having a hard time."

"Don't mistake the 'grin' for anything more than nerves and guilt. She'll make an excellent agent if she can remember to 'check her conscience at the door' as Sarah used to say."

'_This guy's an idiot. That woman wants him between the sheets. Maybe it is post-mission nerves, but I know lust when I see it. No wonder Walker fell for this guy._'

"Chuck, listen to me. I'm deadly serious. Your blood pressure has settled into the danger zone. I know you have a mission to accomplish but you'll never live to finish it if you don't rest, take time to relax and stay away from stress. And Alice, definitely Alice. She has more than post-mission jitters, Chuck, she has raging hormones. So, just don't get caught in a compromising situation. I don't think your wife would be very understanding."

"Give me your damned shot and get your ass out of my room. I can't believe I'm getting morality lectures from a damned CIA agent. One of these days, when you're cleared for it, I'll have to tell you the story of Bryce and Jill who did not go up any hill. So stick me and be gone. And tell Casey to handle the post-mission paperwork. I'm out of steam."

"I'm sorry. That does seem hypocritical of me but I'm serious. I know women and she's definitely looking to screw your ears off, Chuck Bartowski. So keep her at arms' length. I'm telling you as your friend, Chuck."

"Fine. Do your needle work and let me sleep, please?"

A/N: I have a few more chapters of ripe tripe to inflict upon you and then this will be done. Where oh where is the addle-pated waffleman?


	15. The Return of Sarah Walker Bartowski

_A/N: I felt bad about the short chapter so here's another chapter of tripe. My mood sux so my story suffers._

_Armor-Plated-Rat_

* * *

**Belgrade Airport  
Lufthansa Concourse  
August 16 9am local time**

"Casey!" Sarah Walker walked briskly to where John Casey stood surveying the crowd and hugged him.

"It's good to see you, Walker. You're looking a lot better than the last time I saw you. How are you? Ready to pound some sense into Chuck's thick skull?"

He saw the look on her face and immediately apologized. "Sorry. I shot off my mouth without thinking. No one blames you, Walker, least of all me. Now, we've taken out two of your attackers so far. One in Vancouver and one earlier this morning. It was flawless and classic Bartowski. The fly in the ointment is his blood pressure. When he flashes it surges and he has migraine-like headaches that he takes medication for immediately before he flashes in anticipation or immediately after, like Vancouver."

"His nose bleeds and that freaks out the doctors and Dr. Rivers, Gwen, well, Carol of his backup singers, she's on a tear. Says he's going to end up on a slab in the embassy morgue if he doesn't take a break and sleep, then relax for a while. Sounds like the perfect scenario for a second honeymoon to me."

She hugged Casey and kissed his cheek. "You darling man. You big softy. You _are_ a sugar bear." She giggled at the look on his face.

"Jesus, don't get so physical, Walker. You're a married woman. And you need to know he's on a roll, not taking prisoners and he's breeding an incredible loyalty among the acolytes. It's scary. Especially since they think _you're_ the Queen of the CIA. Everyone's waiting to meet _the_ Sarah Walker. I think you'll appreciate Chuck's choices. He's got the OK to keep them together and move those willing to go, to Burbank after this mission."

Sarah had peppered Casey with questions, sometimes not allowing him to answer one completely before asking another all the way to the hotel. Finally finding a question he knew he could answer fully, he did.

"Sarah, if Chuck had any reservations about you two getting back together I think the actions of the past week should put those fears to rest. Jesus, he's killed two people and the last one was down right scary. Alice took out two 'thugs' and Chuck took down the target. I didn't even get to pull my pistol out before it was done. And the other three backup singers were all in position so there was no risk, except for maybe the first 15 seconds."

"Sarah, he made the guy crawl after shooting him in the groin and stomach and then he lectured him and then he shot him in the face. Cold, execution-style."

"And Vancouver? He waltzed into the bar, stuck a pistol in the guy's crotch, got introduced to some relative of a Russian WW2 hero and then popped his bodyguard, your um…one of the guys on the assault, and then apologized for the mess and left. THEN he vomited but it could have been the stress."

"Sarah, did you know he spoke almost perfect idiomatic Russian? I didn't."

"Doesn't sound much like the Buy More nerd we first encountered, does it, John? I had no idea he spoke anything other than English. I'm not sure I ever really saw his entire file." She was shaking her head in wonder and in anxiety. She knew she shouldn't feel this way but she suddenly felt…inadequate… like she was less than he needed. _'It doesn't sound at all like the man I left behind. Has he changed that much or have I?'  


* * *

_

Gran Konstantin Hotel  
Belgrade, Serbia  
August 16 10am local time

The desk clerk took Sarah's passport and gave her a room key in exchange. She looked at Casey and he just shrugged. Once she signed the register and handed her key and luggage to the bellman she walked swiftly to the elevator and urged him on with a glare and the tapping of a booted foot. It had been more than a month since she'd been in his arms and she was impatient to find herself there again.

The elevator ride itself seemed interminable. The old car seemed to crawl to the 4th floor and suspended itself at the entryway taunting her. The bellman opened the door and allowed her to proceed ahead of him.

She stopped at the door, tipped him and sent him on his way. She wanted to slip in and try not to disturb her sleeping Chuck. She shouldn't have bothered.

The door opened just as she was about to insert her key. A short strawberry blonde woman in a nightgown and robe was backing out of the room, turning out the lights as she closed the door quietly. She backed into Sarah and whirled. Both women said the exact same thing:

"Who the hell are you?"

Sarah looked down at the smaller woman noting the stethoscope hanging loosely around her neck and correctly assuming she was Chuck's team physician.

"Dr. Rivers, I presume?" She said this with a sardonic smile.

Rivers was immediately on alert, cursing herself for leaving her pistol in her room. Looking closely at the woman she remembered a picture in Chuck's apartment that he'd been looking at the night she'd drugged him – his wife!

"You're Sarah! Sarah Walker. Oh, my. Chuck's asleep and I was just running my 4-hour check on him. His blood pressure is finally out of the red zone. I'm so glad you're here. Maybe you can get that Neanderthal NSA major to take Chuck to the hospital."

"He's that bad or are you just being careful? I need to hear the truth for a change, doctor. For a long time all the CIA has done is fed us half-truths and downright lies. Be different. Tell me the truth. Especially if you want to remain on Team Bartowski."

"Fine, but let's not do this in the hall. My room is right across the hall. No sense letting anyone know about it. He's out like a light and won't even know you're here for a few hours yet. I guess the dosage I gave him was based on his original weight not how much he weighs now."

"No. I want to see him now. I've been without him for 30 long days and I won't be delayed another second. I'll listen while you explain things but I have to see him. How much weight has he lost? Is it contributing to his problem with nosebleeds?"

"Possibly, but you need to keep your voice down. I don't want him trying to fight the drug if he recognizes your voice. He needs his sleep. He's exhausted and won't admit it. If he doesn't ease up he's going to die, got it? He'll have a stroke. A bad one that will either kill him or make him a vegetable. Understand? Is than plain enough for you?"

"He's killing himself trying to bring you justice he thinks you need and deserve. I don't doubt you deserve it but the question is, do you _need_ it and are you willing to pay the price? Are you willing to let _him_ pay the price?"

"I never wanted this. I realize now that I don't need it. I need him. Nothing more. I'll figure out some way to stop this. I have to. I can't lose him now after I've learned so much about myself and us."

"Good. He calls himself Don Quixote and keeps us around as sort of a group Sancho Panza to put him on his horse again. He's made quite an impression of all of us, I guess Alice and me the most although Bob and Ted would probably go the distance for him. He's very…intense but caring."

"But God, Sarah, he's certainly stupid where women are concerned. You need to watch Alice. She's got herself a case of full-blown hormonal lust for your husband. She can't help it. Post-mission sex is commonplace and Chuck's such a doll. Plus he helped her tonight and she's mistaking mission for something else. Go easy on her. She killed two men this morning."

"Fine. I'll cut her some slack especially since I know exactly what she's feeling. It was so hard not to jump Chuck's bones after missions. The sexual tension was ramped up so high even Casey caught wind of it."

"Well, he's very, very, married. He's also very protective. He practically threw me out when I mentioned Alice's hormones and how she was hanging on to him. He told me to ask him about 'Bryce and Jill who did not go up the hill' if I ever got clearance to hear it. Said he didn't need morality lessons for a CIA agent."

"Oh, my. He _was_ angry. Jill was his fiancée when he was at Stanford and Bryce was his best friend. Bryce was also a student recruiter for the CIA and had Chuck kicked out of school right before graduation. Then he slept with Jill and Chuck caught them. Hurt him terribly. And then I came along and, well, you're right, your clearances are not high enough. Just know that Chuck is the most important human asset the CIA has now. The NSA, too."

"Go see him, Sarah. Take care of him. I'll check on him in a couple of hours. He should be awake sometime around lunch. I'm going back to bed for a bit."

Sarah unlocked the door to the hotel room and slipped inside, closing the door behind her. The room was dark but the bathroom light provided more than enough light for her to see her husband lying on his back, sound asleep. He wasn't wearing a t-shirt and had the sheet pulled up to his waist. It was obvious that Dr. Rivers had been running his vitals. The blood pressure cuff was on the nightstand.

She put her suitcase on the folding stand and took out a nightgown and went in to the bathroom emerging minutes later with her hair loose from her 'travel bun' and brushed out. She looked at the nightgown and opted for Chuck's t-shirt instead. She climbed into the huge bed and slithered over to her husband and leaned on one elbow and ran her fingertips across his face.

His nose hadn't really been reset and it seemed less prominent somehow. The scar from the surgery brought tears to her eyes and she gently traced his jaw line. She could see the scars on the right side of his chest but the larger surgical scar where they'd removed his spleen was hidden in shadow.

Satisfied with her exploration she snuggled up against him, an arm over his chest and her face against his shoulder. Even deep in a drugged slumber some part of him recognized her presence and he turned on his side to face her and put his arm around her and drew her tightly to him.

For a brief instant she panicked but relaxed immediately. This was Chuck, her husband, and she fell asleep within seconds, a smile on her face.  


* * *

**Gran Konstantin Hotel  
Belgrade, Serbia  
August 16 12:45pm local time**

'_If this is a dream I don't want to wake up. I don't want to wake up.'_

But he did. He was lying on his side and his face was covered in hair. Taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent of vanilla he cautiously opened his eyes. Blonde hair. Artic ice blue eyes staring at him. A wide smile with almost perfect teeth greeted him.

"Sarah?"

"You were expecting someone else?"

"Sarah. Am I dreaming? No – don't tell me. If you do, I'll wake up. I know it. Just let me have this little bit of time. I miss you, baby. I wish you were here. I need your support but mostly I just need to know you're OK. This is a good dream." He closed his eyes and was asleep again within seconds. That was a good thing because he hated seeing women cry and seeing his wife cry would break his heart. But she was crying. She was happy and sad but mostly happy she was here and sad she hadn't been when he needed her.

She heard the soft knock at the door and knew it was Dr. Rivers. She'd given them more time that she expected but she had a job to do. Sarah climbed out of bed and threw a robe on and checked the peephole and let her in.

"Thanks for the extra few hours. He just woke up for a few seconds and he's asleep again."

"Why are you crying? Is something wrong? Is he OK?"

"He's…perfect. But go ahead and do your check. I need to make sure he stays that way."

She watched as the young doctor put the blood pressure cuff on him and inflated it. She could hear him mumbling to her. "Hey, Carol. I just had the best dream. Sarah was here. Right here. I hope she's OK. Sorry about bitching you out about Alice. It was her first kill and she was rattled, not terminally horny, Carol. You should apologize to her. I don't need you two at odds. I think you misunderstood the situation. Go ahead. I'm fine. Talk to her. I'm just too tired to deal with all the damned drama."

"I'll talk to her, Chuck. We'll work it out. Don't worry about it. Just rest and then we'll talk it out between us if anything is still at issue. No big deal. Hell, I'm just jealous of the attention you paid her. I'm your damned designated babysitter. Sleep. Maybe God will surprise you when you wake up."

Turning to Sarah she whispered, "his BP is down again, it's better but I want to see if it stays down or if this is just a fluke. I'll check back with you in 3 or 4 hours. Get some room service and see if you can get him to eat. It was all I could do to him to do more than push his food around. I'll see you later, Sarah." She left as quietly as she come in.

She didn't want to wake him so she took some clothes from her suitcase and went into the bathroom to change. Her wardrobe selection was thin. Ellie had just grabbed stuff from her dresser and closet and stuffed it into a suitcase. She put on jeans that Chuck really liked and a t-shirt and slipped into sandals and went in search of Casey. She found him in the restaurant with the team going over mission information. Carol saw her at the entrance and whispered something to Casey who waved her over.

"Sarah Walker, this is Bob, you know Carol or Gwen, this is Alice the fastest gun I've ever seen and that's Tom, procurer extraordinaire of anything we might need. Bob's our resident expert on Belgrade and he's in charge of locating our targets and establishing movement patterns. Guys, this is Chuck's wife, Agent Sarah Walker, my partner."

They all waved a welcome and Bob gave her his seat next to Casey and moved around the table to sit next to Carol.

"I want to thank you all for the great job you're doing. I hope it's over. You know he's fixated on this and I'm going to try and change his focus. He's a valuable asset to the agencies. If you decide to stay with Team Bartowski you'll learn just how valuable but for now, he's valuable because he's my husband, OK? I appreciate all you've done and all you've given up to be on the team."

"Well, I just wanted to meet all of you and thank you. I'm going to see if I can't get Chuck to eat something. He's lost so much weight, you can count his ribs. So, I'll let you get back to your planning. Thank you all so much again." She left the restaurant and the group of puzzled agents.

"She's not what I expected at all," said Alice. "I expected, I don't know, I guess someone larger than life."

Casey summed up Sarah Walker in a phrase. "She's a beautiful and dangerous woman dedicated to the welfare of her husband and the best damned partner you could ever ask for. No further comments or discussion. She's the senior partner on Team Bartowski as well as the wife of the asset."

_A/N: That's it for now. Tomorrow is another day. Read that someplace but frankly as for remembering, I don't give a damn. _

_Don't get comfortable with the mush. Chuck wants justice while Sarah wants to save her husband. Immutable Charrah since both want what the other needs. See, Wep, UNselfishness is a vice.  
_


	16. Ultimatums From The Heart

_A/N: Another ripe tripe piece. _

Armor-Plated-Rat

* * *

**Gran Konstantin Hotel  
Belgrade, Serbia  
August 16 1:00pm local time**

Sarah slipped into the darkened room and stripped off her clothes and climbed into bed with her husband. He'd migrated to the middle of the bed and had managed to wrap himself in the sheets. That meant he'd been dreaming. She managed to unwrap him and slipped in beside him, laying her head on his chest listening to his strong and steady heartbeat while her right arm went around his waist. It was like a drug to her. She immediately calmed down and dropped off to sleep.

Chuck woke up and immediately feared that Alice had somehow gotten into his room and was trying to seduce him. His mind was racing as he catalogued his situation. A woman was lying across his chest, one arm around his waist and a leg between his thighs. From the feel of her bare breasts on his chest and the trimmed curls of her mons pressed against his thigh she was totally naked. He had wrapped an arm around her shoulder in his sleep.

_'I am in so much trouble. What if Gwen barges in here for one of her 'exams'? What if Casey slips in for a quiet conversation? Oh shit, oh dear. I am so screwed. Down, little Chuck, behave.'_

"Um, Alice, you can't do this. I can't, no I _won't _do this. Please, Alice, please just get up, get dressed and go. Please. This never happened and it's forgotten. I'm married. I love my wife. Please, Alice, just let go and get dressed and leave."

The hand that was draped across his waist now slowly ran it's fingers across his lower abdomen, moving downward and little Chuck was stirring. She pressed a kiss to his chest and rubbed herself against his thigh.

"Damn it, Alice, get your ass out of my bed and out of my room!" He tried to sit up but was at a disadvantage having no leverage at all.

"Husband, that's so sweet of you. But I've flown 6,000 miles and been away a month. Please can I stay?" She sported a huge grin and was glad it was dark. She was so enjoying Chuck's response to 'Alice'.

"S – S – Sarah? Sarah?"

"Yeah. Got here this morning. Been sleeping, dozing, cuddling, waiting for you to wake up for a bit so I can see you, make sure you're OK and then tell you everything I've done for the last month and then plan on what we're going to do for the next month. We're going to get room service and I'm going to feed you by hand, without utensils, and then we're going to sleep some more."

"I'm free of the demons, Chuck, thanks to you. Now we can go home and work the new team into shape. I don't want or need revenge, Chuck. I don't even need justice. I need you, that's all."

She moved around until she was face-to-face with her husband.

"Please, Chuck, for me, give up the hunt. I can't lose you and our future, sweetheart. I've learned so much about me and I found that I know so little about you." She felt him stiffen and try to roll away from her.

"No, baby, please stay. I don't mean that in a bad way, Chuck, I mean that I had no idea the wonderful, kind and gentle man I fell in love with could be so loving of me that he'd risk his health and life to give me what I thought I needed, revenge and justice, when all I really need is him - you, and us."

She ran her hands over his cheeks, wiping away the tears she hadn't known were there.

"Please, Chuck, I'm begging you. Please. Let it go. I have. You need to. We'll go see Dr. Foster together, we're strong together now, Chuck, but we're capable of so much more together than before."

She talked for thirty minutes and he never interrupted once but she'd heard him swear quietly to himself when she told him about Dr. Foster's shock collar. He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck and rubbed small circles on her back when she told him about the breakthroughs she'd made, how each realization about herself made her love him so much more.

Finally, she told him about the drive through Alexandria, the admissions of normalcy, how she wanted to live together, sleep together and not at the hotel because she was no longer afraid of hurting him, and how her admissions were the final barrier to her release and her return to him.

Then she kissed him. It was slow, gentle and full. As he returned her kiss there was none of the fevered desire to mate, just to revel in the joys of being together. Both found it incredibly sensual and thoroughly enjoyable. Sarah buried her face in his neck laughing quietly and then sighing.

"I missed this so much, sweetie. I missed the touching, the talking, and the quiet silences full of so much. I missed the companionship, Chuck, the 'being together', the couple stuff. Dr. Foster laughed at our method of making dinner, the blind selection of a take-out menu. I want those things back. I want what we had – it was so normal, even for a spy. And you're a master spy, Chuck, I've come to realize that. That's why together we're such a devastating team. We're a completeness. I'm the muscle and you're the brains of the outfit."

"Beautiful package of muscles, Sarah. But I can't give this up. It's not about you exclusively any more. It's about justice for all those poor people who are in mass graves, all those husbands, wives and mothers who don't know what happened to their loved ones."

"Please, Sarah, it's so much more than revenge. It's not even about revenge. It's about justice. It's about doing what's right. It's about thumbing my nose at all the indifference and showing the world what one person can do to make things right. Can you understand that?"

"I understand that better than you think. But it's not worth your life, our lives together. I – I – I can't be with you, watch you throw your life away. You are going to die if you don't step back, ease the tensions. Chuck, your blood pressure is dangerously high. You're going to have a stroke. Seriously, I can't watch you do it. I won't watch you do it."

"Sarah, please, it's important to…" he started to say. He was surprised at her position. Surely she understood. She, of all people, she should understand better than anyone.

"Stop! Just stop it. I love you and I can't sit by and watch you destroy yourself trying to right a wrong that's so immense that it's indefinable. No one will know that one courageous and brave little man stood against the injustice of the times, no one will care. _Please, Chuck, please_. If you really and truly love me you'll stop this mission, you'll come home with me and the rest of the team and get healthy again. If you don't, I'll go back, file for divorce and you'll never see me again."

She was almost shouting, something she rarely did. That upset him almost as much as what she was saying.

He sat up and twisted out of her arms and stood beside the bed looking for his clothes. How could such a wonderful surprise descend into such an 'either-or' situation? '…one little man…' could make a difference, if only to himself and his worldview and to her, the woman he loved with all his heart and soul. If she were truly his other half, how could she not understand?

He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, feel his heart beating, a pressure behind his eyes, another damned migraine and a nosebleed. Just what she needed to buttress her arguments. He walked into the bathroom, telling her he needed to take his meds.

Chuck sat on the bench beside the sink and took two pills. The headache was bad and getting worse by the minute but he knew it would pass once the pills kicked in. He put his forehead down on the cool sink and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the nosebleed. The coolness of the porcelain helped the throbbing in his head.

_'I have to choose between my wife and my conscience. Man, life was so much easier when I was just a loser Nerd Herder at the Buy More wondering if Lou would ever sleep with me, when the biggest issues in life were provided by Ellie's nagging, and the occasional cover issues with my cover girl friend and the damned intersect.'_

_'Maybe this is all a mistake. Maybe being married, no, maybe being married to a spy, is a mistake. Damn her for letting me love her. She should have declared herself compromised and been reassigned then this shitstorm would never had happened and each of us would be where life intended us to be.'_

_'I need a do-over. How can she make me choose? How can she use the if-you-love-me card? That's so unfair.'_

His musings were interrupted by Sarah knocking at the door. "Chuck, are you alright? Gwen's here for a blood pressure check. Can I come in, please?"

He sighed and ran water and washed off his bloody face and dried it. Normally he ignored it because it was unimportant, but the scar on his face caught and held his attention. He sat back down and put his head on the sink again. He remembered her face as she drew the knife back for a throat-slashing swing. He remembered trying to tell her one last time that he loved her. The headache bloomed into a white-hot jolt of pain and he rushed to the commode and vomited.

"Chuck, sweetheart, are you alright? Chuck? Chuck! We're coming in, Chuck." The door wasn't locked so she pushed it open and saw Chuck bent over the commode, dry heaving.

Gale switched from concerned agent to doctor. "Chuck, take it easy, there's probably nothing left to throw up." She flushed the commode and helped him over to the bench. He was white and sweating profusely and his hands were shaking, more like symptoms of a heart attack than a stroke.

She raised his face and looked at his pupils for any signs of a stroke but they looked normal. His pulse was elevated but that was easily explained by the vomiting episode. She'd noted two partially dissolved headache pills in the commode before flushing it.

"Chuck, I'm going to get my BP stuff. Just sit here. I'll be right back. Sarah's here, remember?" She motioned Sarah to sit beside him and went for her kit. Sarah put her arm around him and he flinched. She put her head on his shoulder and he flinched again.

"Chuck, what's wrong? Don't pull away from me, sweetheart, we can work out our problem, please, don't pull away." She saw the brief passage of fear over his face until he schooled his features again.

Gwen returned with her BP equipment and pumped the cuff and took a reading. She looked at his face and saw a look she'd seen on patients or loved ones when given bad news – terminally bad news. Something was not right here.

"Sarah, could you give us a couple of minutes, please?"

Sarah nodded, automatically following a doctor's instructions. Gwen turned on the water in the sink and leaned in close to Chuck. "Ok, Chuck. What happened here? Your blood pressure is still high, but lower than I've seen it since before Vancouver. Headache? You can take two more pills. But something else happened, didn't it? Did you and Sarah argue? Did you get upset? Talk to me, Chuck, please. Maybe I can help."

"You think you can help? Yeah, we argued. I lost. Or I would have but… I'm afraid of my wife. Can you believe that? I came in here to get cleaned up and take my meds and I caught my reflection in the mirror. Nothing unusual there, right?"

"Except I fixated on the scar and I – I had another damned flashback! Me! Another flashback. Can you dig the irony? I saw my wife, the hate and rage in her face as she drew her arm across her breasts and prepared to slash my throat that night. I saw her, Gwen. I saw the hate. The rage. The fucking _satisfaction_ on her face."

"Here, take these two pills and I'm going to give you another pill, a sedative, to calm you down. If you sleep, it's OK, if you don't, that's OK too. But I'm not taking no for an answer. Now I'm going to go talk with Sarah. I'm taking her to my room to do it. I want you to lie down and relax. We'll figure this out. You got a good thing going here, Chuck. Don't blow it with pride or fear. When the time comes, talk to her."

She left the bathroom and motioned Sarah to join her in the hall. She walked across the hall and opened her room door and motioned a puzzled and slightly frightened Sarah into her room and closed the door.

"His BP looks good so it wasn't a physical thing, that's the good news. The bad news, well, like he says, it's ironic."

"What do you mean?"

"He flinched when you put your arm around him, Sarah. He's afraid of you, physically afraid of you. We've all been so focused on you and your flashbacks that we broke the cardinal rule and lost sight of the original trauma victim. Sarah, he's having flashbacks of your assault on him. He sees you with a knife drawn back for a killing slash to his throat and he sees the look on your face, rage, hate and satisfaction…that's all I could get out of him."

"You mean he's having flashbacks and that's what makes his blood pressure sky rocket? And he's afraid of me?" She started to cry.

"Stop that, Sarah. He needs your help not your damned crybaby attitude. He was a rock when you needed one. God knows but I think he's been having flashbacks since Burbank, maybe even earlier. Big lug never said a word, just kept driving on, taking care of business and breaking us all in."

"Now, pull your shit together, Agent, and tell me about your argument with Chuck. The sooner we deal with this, the easier it'll be."

"I told him I wanted him to give up this mission, that it was killing him and that I wanted him alive and that revenge and justice didn't matter to me any longer. He said it was more than that now, that he needed to act for all those who had lost loved ones. I told him if he didn't quit the hunt and come back with me that I'd leave and file for divorce when I got back to the States and he'd never see me again. We were, well, I was pretty loud by that time. He was upset and I could tell he was getting a headache and he went into the bathroom to take his meds and the rest you know although you can't possibly know..."

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Walker. I know more than you think. Do you think for one instant, that a man like Chuck would be allowed to put himself in the most dangerous situations possible unless he was surrounded by qualified agents?"

"Alice is an assassin and has been an agent longer than you have. Bob and Ted, well, they're Ghosts. And John Casey is the most dangerous person alive and yet he hovers over your husband like a protective cloud. We all do. He's special and I don't mean just because he's the intersect host, it's because he is special. He brings out the best in us. And yes, I'm one of the special talents he has."

"What's your special talent, Gwen? Other than being an MD?" She was sarcastic, smarting over being told to shut up and how it was said.

"I have access to your therapy sessions. I'm on the staff at the clinic you were treated at. Your final therapist, Phyllis, is the director of the Agents Support Services Division and my boss. You only had the best care. Your therapist is a former deep cover agent also so she knew what you were exposed to in the past. I got daily updates so I could use my relationship with Chuck to find answers for your therapy and all the time the real patient was right under my nose. How's that for irony?"

"You had the argument won, by the way. He was giving it all up until you pulled the divorce card on him and the 'you'll never see me again' card. He told me that you had the exact same look on your face, rage, hate and satisfaction when you pulled that crap, my words not his, as you did when you drew back the knife to slash his throat in his flashback."

"We tried to protect Chuck from all the things that could happen to him on this mission. But we forgot about protecting him from you."

End15

A/N: Sorry for the negativity but I'm in a rotten mood lately. Hopefully the tone will improve as my mood does. Maybe someone will write with suggestions for a happy sappy ending?


	17. Lies, Lies & Damned Lies

A/N: Last Chapter…?

Chuck was packed and ready to go when Sarah came back to the room and he was sitting on the end of the bed. She started to say something to him, to apologize for shouting and suggest they go for a walk and just talk but he held up a hand to stop her.

"Like I told Gwen, the psychiatrist/ MD attachment to Team Bartowski, I'm not dumb. I've called Casey and explained that I can't continue the mission. I've asked him to explain things to the two Ghosts and to Alice. I can't face Alice again. Too much there to contend with. I'll go talk with Dr. Rivers about the medications and see about anything else I have to do."

"Chuck, please, we need to talk about things. I never should have threatened to divorce you, it was unfair and a cheap shot, but they told me you would die if you continued pursuing this mission to completion. I did what I thought was right to save you, baby, to save us."

"Yeah, well, that's another bit of irony in my life, isn't it? Like the old saying from the Vietnam War – 'we had to destroy the village to save it'."

"I'll be back as soon as I clear Gwen and whatever medical horrors she wants to inflict. If you're still here, fine, if not…I'll see you around." He got up and left the room to find Dr. Rivers.

He knocked loudly on her door, hoping she was asleep and he'd have the perverse pleasure of waking her. He was surrounded by deception. Casey was the only one true to his nature, the rest were…not real.

"Chuck, is something wrong?" She was surprised to see him there. The pill should have knocked him out for four or five hours, giving them time to reorganize and talk about what needed to be done. Damn him. He never follows directions. _'I should have told Sarah to make sure he took it.'_

"Nope. Just came by to pick up a supply of those headache pills. I'm heading back to DC and I figure a 2-day supply should be enough. Also, I need to know what other meds I need to take since this operation is being administratively terminated effective immediately and you'll be returning to the Agents Support Services unit. Alice, God, where do you send an assassin? The two Ghosts will probably just evaporate."

Gwen looked down at her feet, chagrined. "How long have you known?"

"Since the first day. Confirmed it the night you babysat. So, you want to write down the med schedule or do you trust me to remember?"

"Chuck, didn't Sarah talk to you? Are you going to fly back together? You really need to listen to her, Chuck."

"Oh, please, spare me the crap. I read the transcripts. I know what she wanted in the beginning. I saw how she changed her tune depending on the situation to get what she thought she wanted at the time. She'll do the same thing with me. It's what spies do, especially deep-cover operatives like your boss and my wife."

"Chuck, you're misinterpreting what those sessions revealed. Those first few sessions were feelers, each side trying to find an exploitable weakness in the other. She never wanted an annulment, she wanted to escape the pain and humiliation of the rapes and what she'd done to you."

"God, Gwen, how I wish I could believe that. You hid the last few sessions a lot better than before, probably shredded them or ate them or something. I don't know who or what to believe. I just know that when I have these flashbacks I'm physically sick and terrified of her. My wife. I can't live like that. It's not fair to either of us."

"Then let me call my boss, get you some help. You can do the couple's therapy thing. You owe it to yourself, Chuck. Not just because you're the intersect either. She loves you. She pulled the divorce thing to force you to stop killing yourself. She did it because I scared her enough about your health to force her to do what she normally wouldn't. It's my fault, not hers."

"Let me tell you what I think, Gwen. I think talking to someone about those few seconds of my life will do little or nothing to reduce the anxiety I feel. I can't avoid mirrors forever. I'll see what I am in Sarah's eyes and I'll flashback and the cycle will continue. What shrink tricks do you think will fix that?"

"I don't know, Chuck, but if you don't try, you'll never know. Don't you want to be with your wife? Don't you want to stay married? Have a life together? Or are you running now, too?" She almost stepped back from him when she saw the flickering of rage in his eyes. She'd pushed and pushed for him to quit and then she accused him of running away. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Call your boss. Set it up. We'll be there tomorrow. I suppose we'll get a hotel room with separate beds. Unless your boss wants me in the rubber room, of course. I'll call Casey. I want him along. I trust him." The temperature in the room dropped 20 degrees from the coldness of his voice.

"I'll call her. I'll see if she's free for the sessions or if a new therapist will be assigned. I'll call you and let you know."

"No! It's her or it's no one. Sarah already feels comfortable with her. Why put another stumbling block in our path. It's Dr. Foster or it's no deal at all."

"I'll try, Chuck."

He left and returned to his room, their room, whatever. She was sitting exactly where she'd been when he left although it looked like she'd been crying.

"Chuck, please, we have to talk, sweetheart. This is all such a big fuck up that it's almost funny if it wasn't so sad."

"Pack your bag and let's go. We're flying to DC and meeting with your Dr. Foster. Couples therapy. Isn't that all the vogue among married couples? I don't know where we'll stay. Hell, for all I know they'll throw me in the padded cell or that hole in the ground Beckman seems so fond of. Anyhow, 14 hours from now you'll be in DC."

She smiled sadly. "Do you want to stay together, Chuck? We were so happy before all of this. I want that happiness back and I'll do anything to get it back."

"Let's go fetch Casey and get to the airport. The rest of them can fend for themselves. If you have anything you can't take on the plane, please give it to Gwen. I'm sure between them the former backup singers can handle just about anything."

"Chuck, answer me, please. Do you want to stay together? Please. A simple yes or no. What you call a binary choice, remember?"

"I want the life I had 60 days ago. That's what I want. I want the level of ignorance that went with it. I want the innocence of those times. That's what I want. Can you even begin to understand what I'm saying? I hate what I've become."

"Yes, Chuck, I understand exactly. And we'll have it back. I trust Dr. Foster, Chuck. You'll like her. She's tough but honest."

"That's a surprise. Not the tough part. The other part."

* * *

**CIA Medical Facility  
Langley, Virginia  
August 18 8:45am local time**

The flight from Belgrade to Vienna was almost empty and Chuck took advantage of the empty seats to lie down with his head in Sarah's lap. It was a small victory and Sarah appreciated the effort. He slept peacefully and Sarah enjoyed running her fingers through his hair avoiding the healing spots where the burr holes had been drilled for the shunt. Intellectually, she knew he'd been anaesthetized but emotionally the thought of someone drilling a hole in his head made her sick to her stomach.

She traced a finger along the scar that had triggered his flashback the previous day wondering if plastic surgery could remove it and thus eliminate one trigger from his view.

Casey was sitting one row back but across from Chuck and Sarah and he watched as his partner tried to come to grips with all the changes that had occurred in recent days. Her beloved nerd had somehow managed to create a cohesive team out of a bunch of diverse agents. Casey knew their real roles but had not mentioned it to Chuck. He wasn't surprised to find that all four of the backup singers were at the airport waiting to say goodbye to Chuck.

Carol stood on tiptoes and hugged his neck whispering that she'd set up everything in DC and that she'd see him later in the week. Alice threw her arms around him and tried to kiss him on the lips but he turned his head just in time so that she caught his cheek instead. She slipped an envelope into the pocket of his suit coat hoping he'd take the strongly worded hint and call her.

The two ghosts shook his hand and seemed to vanish into the crowds.

The Vienna-Frankfort leg of the trip was more crowded and Sarah and Chuck sat together again. Sarah held his hand and wrote words on the back of it with her index finger. Chuck dozed, not really wanting to know what she was trying to write. Casey sat behind them wondering if he was going to get a new partner or if Chuck was going to do something spectacular like ask for the bunker option. Neither option appealed to Casey. He hated change.

They'd been booked first class on the final leg to DC and Sarah and Casey sat together for a while when Chuck was sleeping.

"Casey, do you think he'll ever forgive me for what I did to him?" She meant the assault back in Burbank.

"He's changed a lot in the last month. I didn't think he could be so cold, Sarah, but he proved me wrong twice. He's had to make some choices in life that most people never have to face and he's acquitted himself well in the process." He was very careful not to voice an opinion. Opinions were like assholes, everyone had one. He kept his to himself.

Later she moved back beside Chuck who was sleeping as much as possible both to catch up on his sleep and to avoid having to talk to either Casey or his wife. He just didn't know what to say to Sarah. If the couple's therapy thing didn't pan out she'd probably feel obligated to get an annulment or a divorce. He wouldn't contest it. Whatever made her happy.

He awoke from the dream he'd been dreading. His second flashback in as many days. He was sweating and he knew the in-flight meal was about to reappear. He unwrapped a sleeping Sarah from around his arm and made his way to the lavatory. He just made it. He took his toothbrush from his coat pocket and brushed his teeth as well as he could using toothpaste from a little travel tube he'd purchased for just such an occasion.

He returned to his seat and Sarah woke and asked if he was OK. "Peachy. Just had to use the lav. No big deal, sweetheart. Go back to sleep." He hadn't meant to use an endearment but she smiled and nearly purred. He cursed himself for giving her any false hope. At least one of them would be honest in this ill-fated relationship.

They cleared Customs by flashing their badges and ID's and walked to the CIA pool car waiting for them at the Arrivals area. Casey took Chuck aside and handed him a cell phone. "If things get hairy or it looks like they're trying any shit, hit speed dial #1 and the NSA will have a team there to pluck you out in a heartbeat. I'm serious, Chuck. I don't trust these people. If you just need me, hit speed dial #2."

He walked away without saying another word.

* * *

"What's with Casey? He's not coming with us?"

"He refers to it as 'consorting with the enemy' and prefers his own kind, apparently. I'm sure he'll call you and get a status. You're still partners."

She gave him a sad look and got into the pool car. They had a 45-minute drive to the Langley facility. Sarah and Chuck sat in the back on opposite sides of the car, saying nothing, each lost in their thoughts.

The medical facility looked like any other hospital except it was for spies, employees and dependents. He wondered if the wing without any apparent windows was where he'd be 'housed' if things didn't work out.

They entered through a standard lobby and Sarah surrendered her weapon and walked through the security section and waited for Chuck. After a few minutes she began to worry and walked back through the security scanner and saw Chuck unloading weapons. A pistol, a silencer, two spare magazines, a knife, brass knuckles, a wire garrote, a ceramic knife from a forearm sheath and finally a knife cleverly disguised as a belt buckle.

The security guard gave him a look and Chuck just shrugged. Sarah started to smile but then realized that this was all new. The old Chuck wouldn't have dreamed of all the armament. It must have been Casey's influence. Or that damned Alice.

They finally checked into the outpatient counseling unit and as Chuck filled out some forms he heard Sarah greet someone saying "Hey, Dr. Foster. I think we have an appointment with you."

Chuck hurried to catch up to her and saw Sarah hugging a small woman and laughing. The woman's back was to him and Sarah said, "Chuck, this is Dr. Foster, my therapist." Sarah saw the woman's face lose all its color as she turned and Sarah thought she might be having a heart attack.

Chuck looked at the woman and said, "Mom?" Sarah's jaw dropped and Dr. Phyllis Foster, formerly known in her deep-cover identity as Agent Natalie Winstead Bartowski, just stared at her son whom she hadn't seen in 15 years except in pictures or video clips.

Chuck turned to Sarah and bitterly asked, "And how many years were _you_ going to have to suffer being married to _your_ asset, Agent Walker? Two? Five? Ten? The maximum sentence seems to be about twenty years, right, _Mom_?"

He had tears in his eyes, whether from heartbreak or anger he wasn't sure. The pain of the flash on her file was the worst he'd ever felt and he knew he had to get out of there. His nose was bleeding and his vision seemed to flicker as he fought to maintain his balance in a suddenly stroboscopic landscape.

He turned drunkenly and stormed out of the unit, slamming the door and staggering for the main entrance. Chuck pointed to his locker and told the security guard to 'hurry the fuck up' and he took his pistol and assorted knives and stuffed it all into his pockets. He was dizzy but also intensely focused. It all came to him through the damned flash. Tears mixed with blood ran down and stained his shirt. His ears were filled with the sound of his own blood stream flowing and ebbing in time with the rapid pounding of his heart.

Dr. Foster alerted security to a medical emergency involving a disturbed patient, Agent Charles Bartowski. He was to be detained but not harmed. However, he was to be considered dangerous because of his medical condition. Sarah stared at her therapist/mother-in-law with dawning horror.

"He'll never believe me now. He'll see it all for what it was in your time – a hoax, a lie, a government convenience. He'll never, ever believe that what we have, _had_, _**was**_ 'real'. What kind of monster are you, you fucking bitch?" She turned and ran after her husband, desperate to join him and just run away from the fucking CIA. She couldn't let him leave without her.

One of the uniformed security guards in the public lobby was listening to an earwig and had his hand on his holstered weapon as he approached Chuck.

"Agent Bartowski, you are to remain here until medical gets here. Sir, remain calm and step to the side of the corridor and wait, please." Several more of the white-shirted security staff began to close in on him trying to cut him off from reaching the outside.

He drew out his 9mm and made his way towards the fancy glass doors fumbling with the cell phone Casey had given him. Black clots of lint were floating across his field of vision and the hot coppery taste of blood now filled his mouth. He hit speed dial #2. Casey had to be warned. He was the only honest one in the bunch.

"Chuck? Are you OK?" Casey had programmed the caller ID of the prepaid cell phone as 'Chuck' if he only needed to talk with him.

"Ca – Cas – eeee" was all he could get his mouth to form. Ten more feet. Just ten feet. The length of a parking spot. One foot but the other seemed mired in cement. He could hear his handler's voice repeating his name loudly but he couldn't understand any of the other words.

"Agent Bartowski, stop. We have been authorized to use deadly force to stop you." It was language designed by lawyers to ensure that the skirts of the CIA were clean in the event a dependent or loved one attempted to sue the Agency. It had not been designed for clarity of meaning.

He heard the automatic door locks engage and he raised his pistol and fired the entire magazine into the bulletproof glass entryway.

Casey heard the standard federal small print warning being shouted in the background and knew it would only be seconds before he was headed for a new assignment. Then he heard Chuck fire shots at something or someone.

Five more feet but it might as well have been five miles. He brought the cell phone to his lips and said quite clearly and distinctly 'It was all lies, John, all lies' before his world erupted into blue-white pain beginning in the small of his back where the first missiles struck sending waves of agony to his already beleaguered brain.

Sarah saw her husband's back as he ignored the security guard's warning to stop and then saw Chuck firing into the locked doors. She called to him but he couldn't or wouldn't hear her.

He was five feet from the door and they were five feet from him. He was staggering, dragging one leg as if he'd already been shot, not about to be. He said something into a cell phone and then her world died.

* * *

A/N: I was thinking about ending it here. Comments? I do have some 'continuing' ideas, maybe another 6 morning updates… 100 reviews and I'll continue… just kidding. I might have the meat for an epic epilogue. Blame Zipfe if it ends here…he/she wondered if it always had to be a happy ending. It doesn't.


	18. Sarah, Natalie & Diane

_A/N: You really didn't think I'd kill off my boy Chuck, now, did ya? Besides, redemption is required according to the Sysiphus School of Tripe and no one is even close, except, of course, Alice._

_Chuckme0973 you must be skinny - all that exercise - jumping to conclusions...lol_

Armor Plated Rat**CIA Medical Facility  
Langley, Virginia  
August 18 7:30pm local time**

* * *

John Casey stood outside the doorway of the patient's room, alternately looking at the figure lying in the hospital bed, head swathed in a turban of bandages and receiving oxygen via nasal canula, or at the two women sitting on either side of the bed each holding one of the patient's hands. There was barely room for the two of them among the various pieces of equipment monitoring the patient, administering fluids or measuring and recording vital statistics.

One was the patient's wife, Sarah Walker Bartowski, the other, if he squinted, would be Ellie Bartowski in twenty-five years or so – but who was, in reality, his mother, Natalie Winstead Bartowski, now Dr. Phyllis Foster, Director of Agents Support Services Division of the CIA.

The tap-tap-tapping of a woman's heels drew his attention. "Oh, shit" was all he could say.

General Diane Beckman and two large gentlemen with whom Casey had a passing acquaintance were marching down the corridor. The General was far from pleased at being out of the loop on the Intersect handling especially since the Intersect Project was her baby.

"Hello, Major Casey. Thank you for being here and for all you've done above and beyond over the past six months. It won't be forgotten. Now, tell me how this happened. Oh, Phillips and Carey will be stationed here for security purposes. I saw that look, Major, but it's not what you think. I happen to have supported his marriage to Agent Walker and I've done all I could to clear the way for it."

John Casey gaped at the little General who just smiled at him. She motioned the two NSA agents to take their positions, one at the elevator and the other immediately outside the patient's room door.

"John, start by telling me all about Vancouver. I read the reports but have problems with a few details. For starters, when did Chuck learn to speak Russian and why isn't it in his file?"

"Why don't we go to the cafeteria and grab some coffee and I'll fill you in on the past 45 days in detail. At least what I know for certain happened. I don't trust the reports from the CIA so if I didn't see it or hear it from Chuck, I won't cover it." He glanced again at the two figures holding vigil at his friend's bedside and then at the General. She nodded in understanding and led the way to the cafeteria.

"Fine. But I want to see him and speak with Sarah after this. Both to explain the security arrangements and to offer the support of the NSA in his recovery. He will be recovering, won't he John? He's not even 30 yet. He's just gotten started in life."

"The surgeons did an excellent job and the prognosis is for full recovery but they have no idea if his cognitive capabilities might be impaired. They fixed a leak, nothing more. He could be unconscious for a day or a week. They don't know."

"But they, of course, know nothing about his special abilities so on that note I can't conjecture." If he didn't know better, he'd think Beckman really gave a shit about whether the host was all right, not just her precious Intersect. Chuck's last words rang out in his mind, 'It was all lies, John, all lies'. He was seriously considering submitting his retirement papers and doing something constructive with what remained of his life. This entire assignment had shaken his fundamental beliefs in what was right.

It took a little over two hours to brief the General on all the events of the past 45 days. She'd asked probing questions and had asked for expansion on some of his answers but finally she seemed satisfied.

"Amazing. And you say the backup singers, what a code name, all obeyed his commands, followed his instructions – even the Ghosts?"

"Yes, ma'am, even them. They even came to the airport to see him off. For CIA spooks they were good people to have around. I think the one girl, Alice, well, she might be better suited to the NSA. Only problem would be keeping her from Chuck. If ever there was love at first sight, it was Alice and Chuck. Oh, no, General, Chuck bought her cover totally and believe me, he had no interest in Alice. She scared him."

The General laughed and made note to find out more about 'Alice'. She was intrigued at the possibilities if Walker ran away from Chuck.

"Well, I want to see him and speak with Walker. Thank you for an excellent briefing, Major. I hope you will stay a part of team Bartowski, at least as it will be assuming this mess can get straightened out. What were Chuck's last words to you again?"

"Yes, General, if given a choice, I'll stay. He said 'it was all lies, John, all lies'"

"Good, now go away. I have to see these CIA people and I'm really not looking forward to it. Threatening to end a marriage over a little thing like a mission. Incredibly shallow people, these CIA types. Must be flaky recruiting and training. Chuck's actions should be viewed in the highest regard, not something to be ashamed of! My God, he did it all for her and she threatened to divorce him. He would have accomplished his mission and he never would have had to face the trauma of a 'hostile reunion' with his biological mother."

Casey knew when he'd been dismissed and shook his head and left the facility. He'd be back the following morning to see what destruction the diminutive General had wrought overnight.

* * *

**CIA Medical Facility  
Langley, Virginia  
August 18 10:15pm local time**

Diane Beckman entered the room and stood at the foot of the patient's bed looking at him and taking in all the equipment and apparatus that were attached to him. She glanced at Agent Walker but reserved her glare for the other hand-holder.

"Well, Natalie, it seems your chick has come home to roost. How satisfied you must be." The hostile sarcasm was so thick you could have cut it with a dull butter knife.

"Screw you, Diane. You didn't exactly play nice with him when you had the chance now, did you?"

Sarah knew this was way above her pay grade. She reluctantly released Chuck's hand and stood saying, "I think I'll get some coffee," and started to leave the room when Beckman pointed to the chair she'd just left and said, "Sit. This involves you, ultimately."

The General then spoke to the other woman.

"I never would have left him - them. I would have stuck by them and done what was necessary to protect my family, not run off at the first assignment offered. You were married, Nat, and had two beautiful children and a husband who adored you and you left them!"

"I did what I had to do – what I was ordered to do. It wasn't my choice. They said the mark was no longer of viable interest and my services were needed elsewhere. I followed orders, just like you did. No contact, no assistance, no interference, remember?"

"You always had a choice. You should have told them to shove the greater good up their collective ass and stayed with your family. Maybe Steve would still be…, maybe things wouldn't have turned out so badly for them."

"They turned out just fine, Diane, just fine. Ellie's a doctor, Chuck's…Chuck's still finding himself. I should have shot Larkin when I first met him. Chuck would have been a graduate of Stanford and working someplace and thinking about a family not lying here like some vegetable. Sorry, Sarah, my mouth got loose. I don't doubt you love him and that he loves you. I just…oh, shit!" She stood and walked rapidly out of the room, wiping tears from her face and looking for a ladies' room.

Beckman sat in her chair and took Chuck's hand in hers. "You know, Sarah, the last time I held his hand was at his Christening. He was three weeks old and already had an insatiable curiosity about everything. He got that from his father. I remember how Eleanor was always fussing and demanding to be the center of attention. I guess things haven't changed much."

"No, not really. She has a husband and a household to worry about now. She's completed her residency and she and some friends have started an urgent care clinic. She's busy but always has time for Chuck, for us. I guess that's one thing I'll miss, having a sister-in-law who demands we be sisters and best friends. We were. Until this flashback thing. I haven't seen or spoken to her since that awful night, not since she told me she didn't blame me and wanted me back home." She started to cry, silently, but stopped.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just, I don't know what I'm going to do. I did what the doctor advised, got him to stop his mission and back off, I used the divorce card and now it looks like it's going to play."

"God, if this hadn't happened here, we'd have lost him. If this had happened in Belgrade, Gwen's prediction of a body bag and slab in the morgue would have been correct. He'd have stroked out after flashing on the next target and been too far away from medical care to have lived. Maybe it's for the best. At least he's alive."

"Are you going to stay with him, Sarah?"

"If he'll let me. The last month has been a nightmare. He's having flashbacks of our final moments together, when I tried to kill him and he's afraid of me, terrified and I know he's trying to cope, to get past it. And then today, what a way to find your mother after all these years. I know he thinks we lied to him, that I lied to him. He asked me – he asked me how long I was going to stay with _my_ asset and he rattled off some years saying that 20 years was probably the _maximum sentence_. It was horrible, General. You could see it in his eyes, the pain and betrayal. I never want to see that look again. Never."

"Then don't give him reason to see it. Continue being truthful with him. Drop the agent façade whenever you can. Don't retreat behind rules and regulations. Fight for him like you fought us to get married. Don't be Natalie Winstead, be Sarah Bartowski, that's all he wants and needs."

"Well, Natalie's probably over her emotional episode and I have early meetings. Take care of my Godson, Sarah, and call me if you need anything. He's special. And fight for what you want. Don't let anyone take him away from you. And if you abandon him, Sarah, I'll make your life a living hell and replace you with Alice." There was no humor in Beckman's voice.

"I won't. Thanks, General Beckman. I'll be in touch. Keep Alice on the other side of the planet. She really has it bad for my husband and he thinks she's just 'hormonal'."

Beckman gave Chuck's hand a gentle squeeze, hugged Sarah to her unending surprise, and then left the room. Sarah was unsettled by the events of the day to say the least. She found out her therapist was her mother-in-law, her husband was tasered into a stroke, Beckman was an old friend of the family and Chuck's Godmother. She flashed on an image of Beckman in a tutu with wings and a magic wand and giggled. She couldn't wait to tell Chuck about her conversation with Beckman and the image that was burned into her brain.

"Well, so now you know the story of Chuck and Eleanor's child-deserting mother." Sarah glanced up at her therapist, mother-in-law, who suddenly seemed a lot smaller to her. She reminded her a lot of Ellie – who she suddenly realized she had to call and let her know what happened to Chuck.

"I have to call Ellie about Chuck. She doesn't know I'm out of the hospital or that he was in Serbia and is now here. Should I tell her about you or just let her discover the truth like my poor husband did? I'm sorry if that seems cruel to you but I saw his face, the pain in his eyes, I'd spare Ellie that pain if I can."

"Call her. Ask her to come if she can. She needs to be here in case things go sour for him. Explain everything about what happened and let her make the decision. He might not wake up today or next week. We don't know for sure. Oh, yes, the surgeons say the operation went well, but they're cutters, not wives, husbands or…mothers. They've repaired the damage and they're done and have moved on to the next wreck. So, yes, call her."

Sarah called Ellie but got her voice mail. She left a message to call her when she could but that she couldn't have her phone on around the equipment. That message would tell her a great deal.

Twenty minutes later Sarah left the room and went out on the patio and called Ellie again. This time she answered.

"Oh, Sarah, it's so wonderful to hear your voice and to know you're out. I haven't seen or heard from Chuck in days but I figure he's there, right? Can I talk to him? How's he handling it, Sarah? He loves you, you know that. He's just freaking out about the whole thing. He's so upset and worried about you. He doesn't eat or sleep…"

"Ellie, shut up. I'm calling from a Company medical facility, the three papers you signed, remember? Well, Chuck's had a stroke, Ellie, a bad one. Please, if there's anyway you can come to Langley, please, Ellie, it's bad and I – I don't believe the doctors are being totally truthful. The surgeons talk about how well the surgery went but no one will tell us how he's going to be! If you need money, I'll get the ticket for you. Please, sis, I need you here. He needs you here. But Ellie, y – your mother's here, Ellie, Natalie. It's a long story but she's here and Chuck saw her and… and it was so horrible."

"I'll be there as soon as I can. I have money. I'll be there. I'll call with my final arrangements. Get someone to pick me up. Don't leave him, Sarah. Don't let my brother die alone, please? You and I are all the family he has left, Sarah. We're all he has left."

"I'll be here. I'll call if anything changes. I love you, sis. Hurry, please?"

A/N: Redemption of a sort awaits our players. Beckman in a tutu gives me nightmares.


	19. Some Revelations

Flashback18

A/N: OK, so I borrowed a character from one of my other stories. Self-plagarism? The last chapter was hard to write for some reason. This one is harder. In case you haven't glommed onto the idea, it's all about how one person's selflessness is also selfishness when viewed by another. Kind of like the inverse of John Stuart Mills' Egoistic Altruism. Lost? Go read a damned textbook.

Speaking of lost, I shall be amongst the lost for the next 4 days. Mark I Eyeball replacement.

Armor Plated Rat

* * *

**CIA Medical Facility  
****Langley, Virginia  
****August 19 7:00am local time**

"Casey, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. Casey, Ellie's flying in and will arrive at Reagan at 9am. I don't want to leave him so could you please pick her up or send someone for her?"

"Sure. Email me the flight info and I'll pick her up myself. I was planning on coming in and letting you shower and change while I sat with him. Um, how was the Beckman meeting? If it's private, it's OK, Sarah."

"She's Chuck and Ellie's godmother. She was Natalie Bartowski's CIA control officer back in the day. Natalie told me that last night. I think they used to be 'best friends' until she left her husband and kids. Beckman tore her a new asshole and threatened to make my life hell on earth if I left him. She said she'd send Alice to replace me."

"Beckman was CIA? Will wonders never cease? Don't worry about Alice. I think Gwen had a strong chat with her and threatened her with some kind of radical healing. Email me Ellie's flight info. I need to leave now to beat the traffic. I'll talk to you later. Hang on, partner. He's going to be fine."

"Thanks, John. I'll talk to you later."

* * *

It was dark and warm. He hurt. A lot. It was a constant throbbing pain accompanied by a whining sound pitched almost beyond perception. He tried to shut it out but couldn't. It annoyed the hell out of him. He could see the dark coming again. He preferred it to the pain. He preferred not being.

He became aware of falling, tumbling and the dark came and he was not.

The pain was back, a constant nagging that was accompanied by the image of the pretty blonde girl who smiled at him a lot and lied to him a lot and tried to kill him. Her name was…he couldn't remember. She said she loved him but she lied. She said he loved her…he couldn't remember. He wanted the dark and to not be. He did not want the pain the image of her face brought.

* * *

**Reagan Int'l Airport  
Washington, DC  
Delta Concourse 9:30am**

Her flight was late. She'd caught the red-eye to Chicago and then had to wait until 6am to catch the flight to DC. She was tired and cranky and worried.

"Hi, John. Thanks for picking me up. How's Sarah holding up?"

"Yesterday was tough for all of us but her most of all. I was on the phone with Chuck when it happened but she was right behind him in the lobby when they shot him down, Ellie. She's been there every second since then. She hasn't eaten and probably only cat napped in that chair. She won't let go of his hand. Says if she does, she'll lose him. She's…breaking, Ellie, and this on the heels of Serbia and the whole flashback mess."

"Serbia? What the hell was she doing in Serbia?"

"I think that's something you'll want to discuss with her. I was there with Chuck and a team. We were taking out her attackers, Ellie. Chuck wanted her to have revenge and justice. Closure mostly. His health was going to hell and the doc attached to our team said either he quit or he'd die. Well, you know Chuck. He wouldn't quit."

"But John, if he wouldn't quit, why was he here, in DC, well, Langley?"

"Sarah showed up in Belgrade to rejoin the team and the team doc told her either he quit or he'd be dead from a stroke, or worse, a vegetable, and she pulled out all the stops to get him to quit. What finally broke his resolve was, well, she threatened to leave him, divorce him and he'd never see her again. Sounds like another situation in his life."

"That's the jest of it. He folded, they came back for counseling and he ran into your mother and, well, they lost control of the situation."

"He walked away, they tried to stop him, and he wouldn't, probably couldn't even think at that point, ran into some locked doors and tried to shoot his way free through bullet proof glass. That's when they took him down."

"Counseling? For what? Sarah said she was done. Why more counseling? What aren't you telling me?"

"All the time Sarah was here, in the hospital, she'd been getting the care she needed. Apparently, from my sources, no one thought Chuck was more than a physical casualty. It was much more. He's been having episodes, he's reliving the attack and he keeps seeing her face when she's ready to slash his throat…he's terrified of his own wife. Gets physically ill and that and his flashing drives his blood pressure through the roof."

"Where does my mother come into all this? I don't understand."

"She was a CIA agent and your Dad was her asset. She was a handler, just like Sarah. Chuck sees history repeating itself. I think that would be enough to push anyone over the edge, Ellie, even someone not emotionally compromised. He was on the phone with me when they took him down. He couldn't even say my name at first but right at the end, right at the second he got hit, he pulled it together and told me 'it was lies, John, all lies.' Hell of a thing to think about your wife and your mother."

"Suppose he's right, John? You're closer to this situation than anyone else. You know how this handler/asset thing works. Sarah's a good little soldier, follows orders. Holds my brother at arm's length to use his 'talent', pulls him in to use his 'talent' and then the process goes on. Until one day it doesn't work anymore so she goes to step two. Uses her body to get him to use his 'talent'."

"I know my brother. He wouldn't accept that. He'd want more. He'd want marriage, children, a home, and a life together. So she goes to her bosses and makes the deal. He gets what he wants thinking it's real and she and her bosses get what they want, knowing it isn't. It was all a lie, wasn't it, John? All of it. The proposal, the marriage, none of it was real to you people, just a means to an end. Just like my mother did to my father, to our family."

"No, Ellie, you're wrong. She fought the system to get Chuck, to keep him safe. You're wrong, Ellie. You have to be wrong. No one's that good an actress; no one would do that to a man like Chuck. You're wrong, Ellie. You have to be. She's committed to him. Her reaction to hurting him, it was real."

"Sure it was, John. Just like everything my mother did for Chuck and I, really 'real'. Well, tell it to my Dad. Someday the phone will ring and she'll be gone and then you people will 'disappear' my brother. Maybe it's a blessing that this happened now and not years down the road. He can recover from this now. I hope he can. Or I hope he dies now, never knowing everything around him was just a convenience of the government."

"Ellie, you're wrong. I know it."

"I wish I were, John. But my mother is living proof that all handlers are ultimately whores, liars and betrayers. At least they don't have children. Thank God for that blessing. It's only Chuck who'll suffer, not their children."  


* * *

**CIA Medical Facility  
Langley, Virginia  
August 19 11:00am local time**

Ellie Bartowski Woodcombe was afraid. She dreaded meeting her mother again. She remembered all the bad things and few of the good ones. Her mother was always gone, studying or too busy with school to spend a lot of time with her children. After her 'departure' that Mother's Day, she never even said goodbye to her children, their father lavished time on his children.

She knew that her father was more than a theoretical physics professor at USC. He did research he never spoke of. He worried her. He rarely slept, quit worrying about his dress, seemed to epitomize the absent-minded professor but he never stopped loving his children, giving them the precious gift of his time.

And then one day he was gone. And now she thought she knew why.  


* * *

Sarah held her husband's hand loosely in her own, running a fingertip over the back of it, noting the little scars and imperfections. This hand had killed for her, had held her when she cried, caressed her with love and affection, and now it was cool and limp and lifeless. The last time she'd seen this hand 'alive' it was holding an empty 9mm Beretta.

She wiped a stray tear from her eye, not caring about makeup she wasn't wearing, simply force of habit. Wiping away tears was becoming a habit – a habit spies, secret agents and handlers never formed. Another example of her rise to normalcy.

She could hear Ellie before she could see her. She was berating some poor nurse for not letting her access her brother's chart. Great, pissy Ellie.

She started to cry again. That seemed to be all she did. She talked to Chuck like he was awake, asking him questions, telling him stories, making plans for their future but most of about her feelings for him, and how she knew he hated tears but it was all she had left to give him.  


* * *

A large man in a suit stopped her as she walked down the hallway toward her brother's room asking for identification. He took her ID and compared it to some list on a clipboard, asked her for her brother's date of birth and for her husband's mother's maiden name. Satisfied with her answers he took the Visitor Badge clipped to her blouse and replaced it with one that read NSA E.B. Woodcombe, MD from his pocket. She looked at it and it even had her picture on it. The man smiled and wished her a good day and returned to his post beside the elevator leaving a thoroughly shaken Ellie to find her brother's room.

Ellie stood outside the door, not really eavesdropping but not wanting to interrupt her sister. She listened to the woman talk to her brother through her tears, telling him about secrets, feelings, her wishes for their future together and most telling, how she was not his mother, she would never leave him unless he sent her away. The divorce threat was because Gwen (who the hell was Gwen?) told her he'd die if he went on another mission. She was so sorry for that but she didn't want him dead. She said she knew he couldn't hear her but she had to tell him so that maybe he'd remember when he woke up… she loved him. She'd resign from the Agency if that's what he wanted but they'd have to run.

She'd heard enough. She'd been wrong. So wrong. But not about her mother. Just about her sister-in-law, Sarah. It was real. No one would pretend when they were with a comatose patient and no witnesses. She'd jumped to conclusions – again.

"Hello, sis, how're you holding up?"

"Oh, Ellie, it's so damned good to see you. He's so still, so quiet, so not Chuck. Sometimes I put my ear to his chest to hear his heart, to make sure he's alive. Stupid, I know, but I have to know."

"Not stupid. You love him. That's all he needs to hear, Sarah, that's all for now. The rest of the crap can wait until he's bouncing around the room again."

"Have you seen his chart, Ellie? Is there anything there I need to know? I don't care – good news or bad, but I have to know. No one tells me anything just 'he's progressing normally as expected'. What the hell kind of information is that?"

"It's physician for 'we don't know anything more than he's doing what other people did in his situation and they didn't die.' Sorry, but it's true."

"Your mother hasn't been by since last night. I don't think she's going to be much of a therapist today. She was a nervous wreck all during the surgery and until she left late last night. She wasn't the same person who helped me, Ellie. This person was frightened and vulnerable."

"Tough shit. See this guy in the bed? He's the only blood relative I have who's still alive. If she wants to see her 'son' she can damned well wait for the funeral because it's so not going to happen while I'm here."

"Eleanor, you always make statements you have no capability of backing up. I see you haven't learned much since I left. I run this facility and I will see my son whenever I wish. It is you who are here on sufferance. Now sit down and let me take a look at you, Dr. Bartowski-Woodcombe. Your father would have been so proud of you."

_A/N: Sorry for the brevity. It's not a cliffhanger. Just ran out of juice for the evening. Enjoy. I'll get the epilogue out tomorrow. It's actually 3 chapters but I couldn't decide on a decent break point._


	20. Sarah Gets Her War Face On

The short woman bore an amazing resemblance to an older Ellie Bartowski with her hair down out of the bun she'd worn during Sarah's sessions. There was no doubt about who was the mother and who was the daughter since Ellie moved quickly to take a seat as instructed. Maybe it was because it was her mother or maybe she was intimidated by the stance and voice of authority projected by Dr. Foster according to her nametag and identification badge.

"Ellie, I didn't know she was Chuck's mother until yesterday. I thought she was Dr. Phyllis Foster, my therapist. I had no way of protecting Chuck from the shock and I think he flashed on her and it was the final straw. He suffered a stroke and the rest you know. At least you were forewarned."

"Yes, Sarah, I'm sorry, too. I'd planned to substitute another therapist for your session but I was running late and you caught me totally unawares. I'm more concerned about the look on his face when he looked at you, Sarah, than at me. I saw abject fear for just the briefest instant and then realization and then what can only be described as resignation and heartbreak. He connected the dots, Sarah between my situation with his father and your current arrangement."

Sarah bristled. "It's not an 'arrangement'. We're married, legally and morally. We got married in a church. I told you that. Surely it's in your damned notes. I'm his wife. He's my husband, at least I hope so. He's brilliant and he'll have made connections you can't even imagine, run alternative scenarios, all the spy crap but in less time than you take to blink a few times and he'll come to the conclusion that we in the CIA are all liars and manipulators. And he'll have factual data to back it up."

"Yes, of course. I only meant the similarities. I'd been recruited by the CIA just as you'd been, Sarah. I went through GWU in 2 years with degrees in Chemistry and Biology. The Agency had its eye on a young Physics professor at USC doing research in human data retention through optical cues and my very first field assignment was to develop a relationship."

"Oh my God, the forerunner of the Intersect. He's Ori…"

"_**Sarah, don't finish that sentence. **_You don't know who's listening. I know she's cleared for intersect knowledge but most of the people here aren't and we don't know who's Fulcrum and who's not all the time."

"I was in several of my husband's classes and we'd been dating 'off the books' for a while when the Agency decided the relationship between us needed to progress from 'cover' to fact. I was overjoyed. No more sneaking around. We were in love and the age difference made not difference. I was hopelessly compromised. I told my control officer and she said it could only be an advantage that I loved my asset and wanted a 'real' relationship since that was the Agency's plan. We were still at war with the Soviets and what Steve was developing was important to our efforts."

"We were extraordinarily happy. His work was progressing, I'd been accepted to UCLA Med and then you came along, Eleanor. Your father was ecstatic and his feet never touched the floor your first days at home. Things calmed down and for years things were wonderful. I graduated med school and was going to go into psychiatry and then - disaster."

"Funding was cut by the Bush 1 administration since the Cold War was 'over' and then Clinton took an axe to the CIA and staffing, projects and morale were all cut. You and Chuck were too young to remember the long nights your father and I would just sit and talk. We were planning on running but with two kids…your father felt it would ultimately hurt you both. I knew your father would either be detained or murdered and I couldn't let that happen so I made a deal with the Devil. I'd do missions if they left us alone."

"That worked for about 5 years and then I got a call telling me that your father…that Steve was no longer a 'viable interest', not worth a full-time handler and I was being recalled to full time service. I refused."

"Three weeks later Chuck disappeared from school and I got a call. They had him. It was an object lesson. They told me where to find him. They'd drugged him and left him in a park near our home. I was told the next time they'd 'take my pretty daughter' and that was the breaking point."

"I agreed to reassignment on the condition that you all were left alone. I agreed to no contact, no assistance, no interference. I left two days later, Sunday, Mother's Day."

"The rest you know."  


* * *

The pain levels had intensified and the voices surrounding him, even though he couldn't understand what was being said, were annoying. He wanted the blackness, the not being. He didn't want the light, he didn't want anything but oblivion. He groaned and the sound of his own voice startled him and annoyed him.

But the beautiful blonde girl that made his heart break appeared. She hit him with her elbow and he couldn't breathe. She struck him again and pain flared all over the right side of his chest. She struck him in the face with her elbow first in the nose and then in the temple.

She drew the knife from under the pillow in her right hand and prepared to slash him across the throat.

He screamed in terror. Sarah, no, please don't. I love you…  


* * *

Sarah heard him groan. She knew that particular groan. He was in pain, a bad headache.

"Chuck's in pain. I know that groan. I heard in Serbia and on the plane coming back here. He's got a massive migraine. Is that even possible for an unconscious person?"

The two doctors in the room looked at one another. Because she was closest, Ellie initiated the automated BP cuff sequence and waited for the readings. They were not good, not good at all.

"His BP is in the red zone so either he's dreaming a flashback or something else has gone wrong." Natalie hit the intercom and called the nurses' station for an injection of morphine. They had to get his pressure down or he'd stroke again.

"Well, do something. You're both doctors. Do something!" Sarah was clutching at Chuck's trembling hand. She saw he was breaking out in a sweat and his groans were accompanied by mumblings. Unfortunately, Sarah recognized the words, even if the other two didn't". _'It was all lies, John, all lies.' _But then he clearly uttered the phrase that froze the three women in place: ' _Sarah, no, please… don't. I love you'_ The emotional and physical pain in those words was unmistakable.

The nurse brought the syringe and Ellie injected the drug into a port on his IV line but the damage was done.

* * *

**CIA Medical Facility  
Langley, Virginia  
August 19 3:45pm local time**

After a closed-door discussion with the facility director, Chuck Bartowski was placed in a medically-induced coma to suppress any sudden increases in blood pressure brought on by a flashback and to allow his body to heal normally. The amount of heparin in his bloodstream while in Serbia to reduce blood pressure severely hampered the original surgeons. They could not control the bleeding.

Ellie Bartowski returned to Los Angeles after a four-day stay and an uneasy reconciliation with her mother. She promised to 'stay in touch' but had reservations. Everything depended on the health of her brother. She felt horrible leaving Sarah there among strangers especially when she had no one to talk with, lean on or provide any moral support at all.

John Casey came by as often as possible. He'd volunteered for some additional duties until the intersect was again viable.

Gwen Rivers became a frequent 'sitter' in Chuck's room, talking candidly with his wife and helping her continue her recovery. She was astounded to learn that her boss was Chuck's mother, something that slipped out of Sarah in a moment of fatigue. 'Chuck's mom's been a real help,' piquing her curiosity. Sarah finally tired of the badgering and yelled at her to 'ask your boss if you're so damned curious'. She did. Big mistake. Dr. Foster confirmed her identity and then told her to get to work or she'd see if the Aleutians needed a therapist.

Gwen and Sarah were eating a late dinner in the cafeteria while Chuck was getting his via IV when Alice popped in and sat down, uninvited. She was elegantly dressed, looking like she worked at a fashion magazine rather than the CIA.

"How's he doing, Mrs. Bartowski? Any improvement?"

"No. He's in a coma. We won't know much until tomorrow or the next day."

"Tell him, please, that I came by. I'll try to come by later in the week. I hope the news is good for you, Mrs. Bartowski," and she left as quietly as she came.

"Well, she's still carrying the torch, Sarah. You're guy is a lady-magnet. You're so lucky to have him."

"Am I, Gwen? Do I have him? Will he still want me? You know what he said. Do you know what made him say it? I'd just broken his nose, ribs on both sides of his body, ruptured his spleen and fractured his skull, remember? And I was going to cut his throat and I was smiling – smiling!"

"Calm down, Sarah. I know what happened. But I know what happened next and you, all of you, seem to have forgotten that the guy you're so worried about losing almost died to give you closure. You think he's not going to stick around? You're fucking nuts, Sarah, if you think you're going to lose him."

"The only way you'll lose him is if you do nothing but sit on your ass and wait for something to happen. Make it happen. Do the unexpected. Talk to him. Sing to him. Anything to let him know you're here and not gone like his mother. Show some damned commitment instead of sitting around like the rest of them waiting for him to die!"

She got up and stormed out of the cafeteria and went to see if her boss was still in. Something had to be done about the situation and the status quo wasn't working at all.

Sarah was shocked but ashamed at the same time. She had been sitting around waiting for something to happen instead of making something happen. She smiled and promised herself to be really nice to Gwen from now on. And to remind Alice that she was THE ONLY Mrs. Bartowski in Chuck's life and would remain so.

With a new-found resolve she walked back to the room and sat down next to his bed and thought. And thought. And finally dozed. It had been a long day for everyone.  


* * *

**CIA Medical Facility  
Langley, Virginia  
August 24 11:00pm local time**

Sometime later the scream of alarms woke her to a husband who was in the midst of a violent seizure. His back was bowed and arching off the mattress and his arms and legs were rigid. Finally he slumped down into the bed and the only alarm still sounding was from the heart monitor…_FLATLINE!_

No one had come to answer the alarms, no one rushed in with a crash cart to save him and now _FLATLINE! _She sprung out of the chair and leaped on the bed and straddled him and began pushing on his chest screaming 'No, no, you're not dying on me. No. I won't allow it. We will have our time and we will have our love. No, no…'

"Sarah, wake up, it's a nightmare, Sarah?" She jerked awake to find Gwen shaking her by the shoulder. "I heard you yelling, Sarah. It was only a dream, a nightmare."

She stood up and checked on her sleeping prince. A dream. Only a dream.

"Sarah, you have to rest. There's a room next door all set up for you. Go. You can't keep doing this or you'll be in no shape to help him when he's out of the coma and will need you the most. Go. Now. I'll sit with him."

"Wake me if there's any change. Please. Any change whatsoever."

"Fine. Go. Sleep."  


* * *

**August 25 3:00am local time**

The damned light was back and he was no longer in the arms of Morpheus. His head itched but he couldn't lift his arms to scratch and it was maddening. He noted the beeping of the medical devices and figured he was in a hospital somewhere. Probably a military prison or a hole in the ground. He remembered trying to escape from someone or something and the doors had been locked and he remembered firing his pistol and calling Casey. I should have turned the pistol on myself. Stupid. I didn't even have transportation arranged.

' Sarah led me straight to my long-lost-gone-and-almost-forgotten mother. It was lies, John, all lies. Well, those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it. No wonder my father went a little nuts after his wife left him. He loved her just like I love Sarah. Will I get another handler? Handlers do not fall for their marks, they manipulate them, keep them productive and happy until they're obsolete or used up and then they go on to the next mark, unconcerned with the havoc in their wake or the fate of the old mark. Their sights are already on the next one…'

'I wonder how many there were before me? How many before she had to forgo her own future and marry one for the greater good? Am I the first?'

He was so tired. He wanted the nothingness of the oblivion he'd enjoyed. He didn't want this. He didn't want anything except the grace of oblivion.

His head ached like someone had drilled holes in it. His scalp itched and it was maddening because his arms were restrained and he couldn't scratch. He felt like screaming but didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction seeing that he was already awake.

How was he going to survive without her? Casey would probably stay on as his handler and of course he'd get a new partner, someone who had no affinity for the mark in case it was necessary to eliminate the security risk. Who was going to run the company they'd started? Did they even have a company anymore?

Did divorcing a CIA agent wife mean alimony? Could he even get a divorce? She'd been the most beautiful bride in the world and it brought tears to his eyes to realize it was all a lie. All of it. All but the brutal honesty of that night when she'd had her flashback. That had been real.

Was there any wonder he was afraid of her? He'd seen the hate and satisfaction in her eyes and on her face. He shouldn't have said anything. He should have just let her kill him and that would have been the end of it. It would have been the best for both of them. He didn't want to be a jailer for however many months or years he had left but he'd been so afraid and in so much pain and he was afraid of dying then.

The damned itch was driving him crazy.

Gwen felt the tug on her hand. She'd dozed off holding his hand for no reason other than it felt right. He needed to know he wasn't alone. That people who cared for him were there for him. Another tug, this one stronger. She sat up straight and looked at the sleeping patient and was shocked to see tear-filled brown eyes staring up at the ceiling. He was awake and had been for some time judging from the tear tracks on his cheeks.

She stood and leaned over him. "Chuck, Chuck, it's Gwen. Everything's fine, you're all right. I'll get you a little water, OK? The we'll talk, OK?" She found the bed controls looped to the side rail and raised his upper body up so he could see her more easily.

She let him sip on a little water then took a damp cloth and wiped his face with it. He hadn't made eye contact and he was avoiding it. Why?

"Let's start with the basics, Chuck. You've been in a coma since your blood pressure spiked. It was for your own protection, to allow your body to heal. You're doing great. Sarah is here, right next door. Poor thing has hardly ever left your side. I'll get her in a minute."

"N- N – No" He didn't want to see her. He didn't want to see the look on her face when she realized she was looking at the next how many years of her life. He didn't need the guilt or the feelings of shame.

"What? You don't want her now? Why not? Can you tell me why not?"

His lips moved but he couldn't seem to find words. "OK, let's stick to yes or no questions, OK?"

He nodded his head slightly and grimaced as the huge bowling ball in his head rolled to the front and bashed into his forehead. He grimaced but made no sound.

"Hurts to move your head? OK. Then blink once for yes and twice for no. Understand?"

Blink

"Do you want Sarah here, Chuck?" Blink-blink.

"Do you need a pain injection?" Blink-blink.

"Do you want your mom?" BLINK-BLINK-BLINK-BLINK

"Are you mad at Sarah?" Slow Blink

"Because of the argument in Serbia? Blink

"Any other reason you're mad at her?" Blink

"Because of what happened here, meeting your mom like that?" BLINK

"Chuck, Sarah…" He interrupted by squeezing her hand and pulling her towards him. He gestured for her to come closer and struggled to say "All l-l-lies. Y – Y - You all l-l-lie. C – Can't f-f-for-g-give…"

"Chuck, I never lied to you. Well, OK, but that was the cover. See? I had to get next to you to make sure you stayed healthy. Understand?"

Blink. He pulled her hand again and she leaned over to hear what he could barely whisper.

"M – marriage is c – c- cover for Ssssarah. L – lies."

"Oh, no, Chuck. Your marriage is no cover. She loves you. She lied to you in Serbia to get you to quit the hunt. She was afraid you'd die. She's crushed she hurt you. Afraid she's going to lose you because of Serbia and this damned place. Understand?"

Blink

"Good. Now I'm going to wake her. She needs to see you, Chuck. She's been in this room, in this chair, holding your hand for days. Ask her about Ellie and your mom, Chuck."

"No, l-let her sss-l-l-eep."

"Fine. But you have to talk to her, Chuck. And we have to talk about your flashbacks. She's not going to hurt you."

"She w-w-ill, j-just not n-now. When her orders c-c-come, she'll l-leave. Easier on us if sh-she d-does it n-now."

"Chuck, you have no reason to think such a thing. None whatsoever. What makes you think she'll leave you in the future."

"Because, Gwen, that's what I did to him and his sister. I followed orders and left them. There would have been horrible consequences if I hadn't, but that doesn't excuse what I did. There are no guarantees in life. He knows that better than most and that's why he wants to end it now, so it doesn't hurt as much as it would later." She'd come by to check on her son before leaving for the day and had blatantly eavesdropped on the conversation between her son and Dr. Rivers.

Rivers was a good therapist and had a natural inclination to develop a trust bond with her patient. She was well on her way to doing so now. Serbia had been a great learning experience for her and she'd done good work until she'd made the 'rookie' mistake of ignoring the mental trauma for the healed physical one.

"Leave us alone, Gwen. I need to explain some things to my son and you have absolutely no need to know. I'll wake Sarah when I'm done. Go. This is none of your business."

Gwen squeezed Chuck's hand reassuringly and whispered that she'd see him in the morning and they'd finish talking if he wanted. He gave her closed-lip smile and nodded slightly, not wanting another bowling ball attack.

Natalie took her place, gripping his hand and not allowing him to pull away from her. He was so much like his father. Bright, earnest, trusting and giving of himself instead of taking. He was the perfect intersect host. He was a moral man with strong feelings about right and wrong. He must have given Diane fits with his inclination to thumb his nose at authority and do what was right. She almost felt sorry for Beckman until she remembered how ruthless she'd been as her control officer.

"Where to begin? I suppose I should start at the very earliest point of my involvement in the CIA." She talked almost an hour, going back over things she thought he might not have understood and always coming back to the love and happiness she'd had until things went wrong.

"Why?" Chuck struggled not to seem to care and he was careful with his speech. He knew he would need speech therapy unless all this effort to make him understand 'the errors of his thinking' failed. Dead people or those in deep holes in the ground didn't need to speak coherently since no one who mattered would be able to hear them.

"Why what? Can you be more specific? I've covered a lot of time here." She dreaded what she knew he would home in on, what he would wonder about and then turn over and over in his mind until all his questions could be asked and answered with one simple question and answer.

"Why d-did you…why didn't you ever c-con-contact us a-a-after?"

"It wasn't permitted. They would know and then, back then there were different people in charge. It's different now and I saw no need to open healed wounds. You and Eleanor were doing fine. You didn't need the past dredged up and I couldn't handle the emotional pain. I was afraid of resurrecting all the pain and agony of the past years. Basically, I was just afraid. I was selfish, Chuck. I didn't want to hurt again. I'd buried the past and just lived day-to-day. I had a career and that was enough."

"C-c-coward. Left us. No. A-a-aba-andoned us. No word. D-d-dad went c-crazy. You should have just k-killed us. Mercy. Like S-sarah sh-should have k-killed meeee. M-mission accomplished w-with m-minimal collateral d-d-damage. No loose ends, no regrets." His speech seemed to improve as he got angrier with his mother.

"Y-You have a career, a life, we h-had nothing. Nothing at all. Y-You don't know what we did after D-Dad left to live. Selfish b-bitch. D-death would have been a mercy. A-ask Ellie. G-go ahead. A-ask her about d-d-dogdging fos-t-ter care and sssocial w-w-workers. ASK HER!"

"Chuck, I know it was hard but, the alternative! I couldn't let them take my children!"

"No, Agent Winstead, instead you abandoned them."

Sarah Walker Bartowski had heard the shouting from her husband's room and was standing in the door way, sleep forgotten, war face firmly in place.

"Get out of my husband's room. Leave. We'll be checking out of this loony bin just as soon as a competent physician gives us clearance. If anyone approaches him, those two NSA Agents have been authorized to take us someplace safe. He's mine and no one is going to tell me to leave him. Never. Now, please leave. You're his mother and I appreciate all you've done for me and him but it's over. Go back to your day-to-day existence and revel in the joys of your career."

"He'll learn to live with me again, he'll learn to trust me again. We don't need anything else. He's the intersect, I'm his handler. That's _what_ we are, job titles, nothing more. It's not _who_ we are. We're Chuck and Sarah Bartowski, husband and wife. Now, again, please leave. We've all had a long day and he needs his rest. I intend to see he gets it. Good night, Dr. Foster."

_You dimbulbs need to look before you leap – to conclusions. Epilogue after I get a new eye_


	21. Down The Rabbit Hole He Goes

_Epilogue – NOT…_

_I've still got some dimbulbs to thoroughly enrage.._

_Armor-Plated-Rat  
_Previously…

* * *

"_Chuck, I know it was hard but, the alternative! I couldn't let them take my children!"_

"_No, Agent Winstead, instead you abandoned them."_

_Sarah Walker Bartowski had heard the shouting from her husband's room and was standing in the door way, sleep forgotten, war face firmly in place._

"_Get out of my husband's room. Leave. We'll be checking out of this loony bin just as soon as a competent physician gives us clearance. If anyone approaches him, those two NSA Agents have been authorized to take us someplace safe. He's mine and no one is going to tell me to leave him. Never. Now, please leave. You're his mother and I appreciate all you've done for me and him but it's over. Go back to your day-to-day existence and revel in the joys of your career."_

"_He'll learn to live with me again, he'll learn to trust me again. We don't need anything else. He's the intersect, I'm his handler. That's what we are, job titles, nothing more. It's not who we are. We're Chuck and Sarah Bartowski, husband and wife. Now, again, please leave. We've all had a long day and he needs his rest. I intend to see he gets it. Good night, Dr. Foster."  
_

* * *

She waited while the doctor left, and then closed and locked the door.

"Chuck, listen to me, please. When I freaked out, you were there, a phone call away. Only two calls but they kept me going until things improved. I know right now you might hate me, you might be afraid of me and I KNOW you don't trust me. Fine. I have three objectives. You have a few yourself, big boy."

Chuck raised what he hoped was an eyebrow. The way he felt right now it could have been a burrito. His sense of self was off balance. Damn but she looked good standing there with fire in her eyes.

"Number one: you're a physical wreck. That's my fault and I'm sorry. I promised you that we'd get back to where we were 60 days ago and I'm going to keep my promise, the first of many I'll be making to you over the next 50 or 60 years. I also will honor our wedding vows, unlike some other people who just left the room."

"I'm done criticizing your mom. That's the last time, I promise."

"Like I said, you're a physical wreck. I'm going to Beckman, yes, Beckman and then Graham, and request a month off – a honeymoon, although you might not think so. We're going to a training area down south and get you back to where you need to be. If the brain works ok, the body will follow and I know your brain works fine. It's just a little battered right now."

"OK, number two: We're going to work on our communications skills. I will tell you everything, without reservation, anytime you ask. There are no restrictions. I will tell you the unvarnished truth and if you can't handle it, tough. Learn to. Your part is to tell me everything you're feeling when we're together. No hold-backs. We're getting a do-over and life gives very few of those out. If I ask you what's bugging you, I expect an answer, a full disclosure, no holds barred. If you're pissed at me, I need to know why so we can fix it."

"Number three is the easiest and the hardest. We need to get right back into physical intimacy. I need to prove to you that I'm not going to beat the…that I'm not…ah, shit, Chuck, I'm so sorry, baby. I…"

He held his arm out to her and then patted the bed beside him. She was trying and he'd give her, and by extension, them, every opportunity.

She gently got up onto the bed and he put his arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder her hand rested over his heart.

"So, when you're able, I think we need physical intimacy. Not that I'm pushing, I just think it will be good for us to be close, y'know, touching, being physical, overcoming reluctance and our fears. I'm not totally sure I won't have the dreams again, Chuck, but I had one in Serbia and I woke up, found you, and went back to sleep. So if it can work for me, it'll work for you too, given time."

"W-w-we'll t-t-try. Sssorry. C-c-can't t-t-alk right."

"Well then, I'll have to do all the talking and you do all the listening. I kinda like that for a change. But we'll get help on speech if you need it. Baby, you've had a helluva 2 months and the way things went down with your mom, that was just wrong and I'm sorry. I didn't know she was your mother, Chuck, honest. I never even noticed the resemblance to Ellie until she unloaded her hair bun. I was too worried about us, I guess."

"S'k, Ssssarah. I know. Go ssssleep now,w-w-wife." He would try as hard as she did to get back what he'd lost. He must have said something nice because she sighed happily, snuggled up next to him and was asleep before him. His speech embarrassed him horribly. He'd always prided himself on his quick tongue and now it looked like his speech center might have taken knock. Well, he'd always wanted to learn sign language.

**August 26 7:00am**

Gwen slipped into Chuck's room and stopped dead. Chuck and Sarah in the same bed! Glorious progress. Now, if his speech would improve they'd let him out as soon as the burr holes showed signs of healing and he had no further episodes of near-stroke level blood pressure spikes.

She slipped quietly out of the room and hung the 'no visitors' sign on the door. At least they'd have privacy until the noon meal. She found the aide with the meal tray and told her to skip his room for breakfast.

Sarah woke from the most restful sleep she'd had in months. During the night he'd rolled onto his side and had enveloped her in his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin. Luckily, she had managed to avoid entangling herself in his various wires and tubes. They'd lucked out again.

She had to get up. Her bladder was screaming at her. But she was so warm and comfortable. She felt safe and secure for the first time since the flashback.

"Chuck, baby, I need to get up. Can you let me go for a few minutes? Chuck, please, I really have to go."

"F-fine. Hurry b-back. I don't h-have to w-w-worry ab-b-bout that right now." Sarah sat up and twisted off the bed wondering what he meant when it dawned on her…and she blushed through her hair roots.

She walked back to her 'room' and did her business and brushed her teeth and hair and changed into sweats and tennis shoes and went in search of his breakfast. The aide was just getting on the elevator and she snatched his tray and thanked her.

She nodded to the NSA man and then took Chuck his breakfast, removing the 'no visitors' sign and going in to feed him his breakfast.

For the next 7 days that became their routine. Eat, talk, eat, talk, nap, eat, talk, sleep, repeat the next day. But today they were getting out. They were heading to Florida to a special forces training camp with a large CIA-controlled section used for training and rehabilitation.

Graham had bent over backwards to accommodate Chuck's 'special needs' with a crack physical therapist and, surprise, surprise, Gwen Rivers to provide counseling services if any were required and medical services if needed although Eglin AFB was only 20 miles away.

* * *

**Reagan Int'l Airport  
Sepetmber 2 10:00am**

The CIA Gulfstream took off carrying Gwen Rivers, Sarah, Chuck and the two NSA men. They'd serve a dual purpose: physical security and physical training. John Casey would be waiting for them on the ground. When he mentioned that to Gwen she'd let loose a million candle-powered smile. Apparently the diminutive doctor and the 'hulk' had been – gasp – dating!

Sarah sat holding Chuck's hand remembering the last flight they'd shared. That was the most horrible day of her life. Scratch that, July 15 was the most horrible day, but that day was certainly the second most. She'd almost lost him to a stroke brought on by the chance encounter with his mother and a tasering by security. She shuddered to think of how close she'd come to being the Widow Bartowski.

Chuck squeezed her hand. "F-forget about that, p-please?" She swore that sometimes her husband was psychic. "I'm OK, just being thankful for what we have now. And what we'll have in the future." She leaned over and kissed his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. She couldn't wait until he could lose the turban. She wanted to see how much damage the surgery had done to his hair – those curls she so liked to play with.

Chuck laughed. "Care to share, Chuck?" She could kick her ass. She had promised herself that she wouldn't press speech issues on him, especially in front of others. She didn't want to cause him any embarrassment because of his stuttering.

"Devon m-meeting m-my m-mom…" He rolled his eyes and Sarah giggled. When Ellie had encountered her mother in Chuck's room it had been almost funny except that he was almost dead. Her mother had put Ellie in her place with a few words and a look. Now she knew where Ellie go it from, not that it worked on anyone but Devon and maybe nurses.

Sarah and Chuck had already been informed that Thanksgiving at the Bartowski household this year would include their mother. Chuck refused to attend. He refused to have anything to do with the woman who'd abandoned her family despite the 'reasons' offered. Although he never heard it, he'd echoed Diane Beckman's condemnation almost verbatim. So, T-day at the Chuck & Sarah house would probably mean a meal at a restaurant. They'd already planned on inviting John unless he had other plans. Like with a certain doctor…

She was viewing the future with a lot more hope. Chuck had brought up inviting Casey for T-day knowing he had no one to share it with. Also, there was no way she could drag Chuck to Ellie's as long as 'Dr. Foster' was going to be there. She couldn't blame him at all.

She glanced over and noticed Chuck was grimacing, and resting his forehead in his hand.

"Sweetheart, got a headache? Need your meds?" She always freaked out when he got one of his 'migraine-like' headaches. She was the reason he had them.

"No, n-not yet. W-want to c-cut down on then."

"Chuck, take the pills, don't suffer pain you don't have to, please?" She handed him the pills and he dry-swallowed them like tic-tacs. She always felt a brief sadness when he popped his pills. She was the reason and she was afraid this would be a life-long necessity.

He took her hand from her face and kissed the palm and held it. He knew she was feeling guilty. It was one of the main reasons he was trying to wean himself off the pills. She almost always lost her smile when she saw him take a pill.

Sarah felt a thrill go through her at his actions. He always seemed to know what she was thinking and what would make her feel better.

Chuck dozed through the flight. He had a thing about airplanes. Get on a plane, go to sleep. He loved sleeping in cars, planes, even in his old day sailor. He never really was totally asleep and he loved the feeling. He'd tried to explain it to her once but she just shook her head and dismissed it as a 'Chuckism'.

The plane landed at the private strip reserved for the training center. There was no one there to service the aircraft or to handle baggage or arrivals. Just three SUVs parked beside some oil drums.

Casey got out of the lead vehicle and strolled over to the disembarking group. He saw Gwen Rivers and barely suppressed the smile he felt breaking out over his normally stern face. He was surprised and pleased she was the 'medical liaison and therapist' for the training cycle.

"Hey, Chuck, Sarah. I see you brought a spy with you. I warned you about the CIA but you didn't listen, did you, Bartowski?" Sarah laughed and Chuck just shrugged his shoulders. He walked haltingly over to Casey and smiled, checking out his shorts and t-shirt.

"Out of uniform, aren't you, M-m-major?" Chuck laughed and shook his hand. "Gwen's done no-no-nothing but t-talk about this 'vacation' and I see you're d-d-dressed for it."

"It gets hot here, Chuck. Besides, it's my cover. I'm your physical conditioning coach. I even got a whistle." He held up a silver police whistle that hung about his neck on a cord and smirked.

* * *

**CIA Training Camp  
Eglin AFB Military Reservation  
September 3 7am**

Casey met Chuck and Sarah at their bungalow front door just as they were leaving. Sarah was wearing shorts and a tank top and Chuck was wearing cut off sweat pants and a faded t-shirt that had seen too many washings and too many years.

"Morning, you two. Chuck, say goodbye to Sarah for the day. She's got to organize her stuff and you're going for a familiarization tour after a supervised breakfast. Sarah, Gwen will handle your tour after the two of you have breakfast. I'll meet you at the jeep, Chuck, so get the kissy-face stuff done, OK? It's getting hot already."

Sarah just laughed and hung one of her patented soul-searing Roane Montgomery-approved tongue dueling kisses on her man. "That'll have to do you until your get back, husband."

Chuck just grinned, ran the palm of his hand down her cheek and the walked down the steps slowly and carefully and then getting into the jeep.

Sarah sat on the bungalow steps waiting for Gwen to take her to breakfast. It was already hot.

Casey drove the jeep slowly through the empty buildings of the training center and out onto macadam track that disappeared into a thickly overgrown area.

"Chuck, how would you feel about expanding the team? Maybe include a doctor who's cross-trained as an agent? I worry about you, son. You only have a few lives left on your cat-side."

"W-w-ould be a g-g-good idea. Y-you're getting up there and p-p-probably n-need a f-f-full-time nurse at your age. Anyone in m-mind?"

Casey didn't say anything. He just slowed the jeep as they entered the overgrown area. "Chuck, I think she's the one. I've been alone forever and I'm tired of it. Seeing you and Sarah and how happy you both are, well, it's made me think. I'd like Gwen on the team. I want to see what develops between us. What do you say?"

"She's a spy, Casey. One of them. CIA. You're N-NSA. An assassin. Think y-you could m-m-m-make it work?"

"Shit. You're deliberately making this hard, aren't you, Chuck? OK, I want her on the team. It's important to me. Beckman says it's up to you. Graham wants her on the team because she's CIA. Sarah will want her on the team because of you and your…because of you."

"What d-d-does she want, John? Have y-y-you asked her? She probably has a life b-b-b-back in DC. She's not a field agent although she is good. It w-w-would be good if she w-w-wanted it before it was sprung it on her as a d-d-done-deal. And what about fraternization, John?"

"OK, I'll talk to her and then let you know. Do you have any objections, Chuck, assuming she wants the assignment."

"No."

"Good. We've come five miles. Get out and I'll meet you back at the bungalow. Stay on the track. Don't take all day, Chuck. It's getting hotter by the minute. Should hit 90+ by 10am. You really want to be out here then?"

Chuck got out with a slight smile on his face. "I c-can't w-w-wait until Carina m-meets her."

Casey glared at him. "I should have gone 10 miles, you gimp asshole. Move it, Bartowski." He took the shiny whistle out of his shirt pocket and blew it. "Move it, Chuck. And watch out for snakes." He laughed and backed the jeep up until he could turn around, blew the horn and disappeared down the track.

Chuck started walking carefully down the macadam track being careful to avoid the potholes. Maintenance wasn't a big deal down here, apparently.

Casey turned off the track down a dirt road and stopped the jeep. He pulled a backpack out of the back of the jeep and walked down until he could see Chuck walking slowly up the track, favoring the leg weakened by his taser-induced stroke. He planned on keeping him under constant observation and would drive down and pick him up at the first sign of trouble.

Chuck was mulling the advantages and disadvantages of having Gwen join the team. She was definitely good at what she did, she got along well with Sarah, she was a crack shot, and she had strong opinions about right and wrong. His only concern, and here he admitted to blatant hypocrisy, was a relationship between her and Casey. Was it like Bryce and Sarah had or was it like he and Sarah had? He surprised himself when he didn't react to his own thoughts about Bryce. Maybe he was finally growing up.

He figured it would take about 2 hours to walk five miles given his crappy physical condition. His right leg 'dragged' more than normal and he knew it wasn't a muscle problem but a remnant of his stroke. He'd have to talk to the physio guy about it. He didn't want Sarah to have a gimp for a husband.

Casey had had to change positions 4 times before Chuck finally took a break and sat down. He was surprised he'd come 3 miles before taking a break. He knew men in much better condition who would have stopped to rest after the first or second miles. He was making good time for someone who had been at death's door barely a month ago.

* * *

Gwen and Sarah toured the facility. Gwen pointed out the pistol range where Chuck would work on eye and hand coordination and marksmanship. There were other ranges for other weapons depending up the time available. The 'gym' contained all the latest exercise equipment as well as some physiotherapy devices. Sarah knew Chuck would be spending a lot of time in here. Between Sarah and Casey, Chuck would regain muscle mass and tone, strength and stamina would be developed through walking and eventually running.

They talked about Dr. Foster when Gwen brought it up. Sarah offered her opinion, listened to Gwen's and they agreed to disagree and drop the subject. Both knew better than to bring it up in front of Chuck.

The last building was the medical facility. It was more than adequate for their needs.

Sarah had been keeping an eye out for Casey and Chuck and mentioned to Gwen that Chuck hadn't taken his meds with him. She didn't want a recurrence of his 'killer headaches' and him without his meds. Gwen went to the wall phone and called Casey on his cell.

"Casey, Chuck's meds are in the bungalow. Keep a close watch. We don't want him suffering a setback because of those migraines." He responded that at the rate he was going they'd be back in 20 minutes. They agreed to meet for lunch and Chuck could get a dose if he needed it.

Chuck had seen several places where the jeep had turned off the track onto dirt side lanes. He figured that Casey was monitoring his progress, probably laughing at the 'gimp' and his lurching stride. Evil Chuck suggested a joke and an object lesson.

As soon as Chuck heard the jeep start up for another leap-frogging move, he cut off the macadam and into the underbrush and went about 20 yards and then changed direction to parallel the track. When he figured he'd gone far enough to be past Casey's hide site he got back on the track. He found the jeep within 10 minutes and walked down and popped the hood and removed the coil wire from the distributor cap. Laughing, he put it under the driver's seat and the walked on toward the compound.

Although he was hot and tired he felt great. He'd just walked five miles and left Momma Casey stuck in the woods.

Sarah was sitting on the steps of the bungalow keeping a look out for Chuck and Casey. It had been a little more than 2 hours since they'd left and she was beginning to worry that something might have happened. A score of horrible events cascaded through her mind. Snake bite. Another stroke. A sprained ankle. He got lost. The jeep broke down. Attacked and devoured by alligators. Heat stroke popped up several times. It was 88F and she knew Chuck might be dehydrated.

Just when she was ready to get Gwen and have one of the NSA guys drive them down the track she saw her lanky man-toy strolling up the path, only limping slightly. Even from this distance she could see the big smile on his face.

She jogged down to meet him, a bottle of water in her hand. He looked sunburned but happy. He drank half the bottle, gave her a wet and sloppy kiss then drank the rest. When she asked about Casey he pulled a sad face and launched into a carefully rehearsed scenario that she almost believed at first.

"Sarah, it w-was awesome. A really b-b-big, and I m-m-mean b-big, alligator came out onto the road and b-blocked our path. Casey b-blew the horn and it just p-p-pissed off the gator. Casey took his p-p-pistol and walked up and shot it in the head but the b-bullet b-bounced off!" Sarah's eyes were big as saucers because she'd had almost the same scenario in her cascade of troubles.

"And then it ssssstarted towards us. I ssstood up on the hood of the j-jeep and Casey fired into it's open m-m-mouth and finally killed it. He's down there now making shoes and a purse for G-G-Gwen."

She believed him right up until the shoes.

"YOU ASSHOLE! I was scared to death about you being out there alone and you pull that on me? You're going to pay for that, big boy! Now, where's Casey?"

He told her what he'd done and she recanted. "I'm not going to make you pay for that. That's funny. Nope. Casey will make you pay though."

"You stink. Go take a shower. You're all sweaty."

"G-G-Good idea. C'mon. We'll save water. J-J-Join me?"

Sarah pointed to his turban and sadly shook her head. "No nookie until that's off. Sorry." Chuck just sighed, looked disgusted and then walked into the bungalow. He was really too tired for it anyway. Sarah followed him, noting not his disappointment but his weariness. She'd talk to Casey about making her husband walk five miles without water in this heat. And she'd take her gun when she did it.  


* * *

John Casey was sitting with Dr. Rivers when a freshly-showered and fresh-looking Chuck and Sarah walked into the mini-cafeteria. After being handed trays, nasty-looking stuff for Chuck and a lasagna dish for Sarah, they sat down with the two agents.

"Well, Chuck, enjoy your stroll? Every morning, the same thing. Only a little farther each time."

"Casey, he had no water today in this heat. That's unsafe. He should have a bottle of water just in case."

"He did fine, Walker, I mean, Bart – oh, hell, Sarah. And I had to walk almost as far because the damned jeep crapped out on me. And I wasn't thirsty at all. Hardly broke a sweat."

"You weren't in a coma for a week either. Water or at least let me walk with him. Moral support. And for safety."

"I had him in sight all the time, Sarah. He set a good pace, kept it, only took one short break and then had at it again. Turned in a good time, really. We walk in the morning before the heat really hits. Just be glad it's not early August."

"N-Not all the t-time, Casey. You lost t-track of me right after my b-b-break."

"I did not. I was never more than a hundred yards from you."

"Then how was I ab-b-ble to slip past you on the t-track, f-f-find and disable the jeep?" He was blunt and to the point, not bragging, just reporting facts.

"What? You disabled the jeep? How? I think you're making up tales, Chuck. It just wouldn't start. Old piece of crap."

"Yeah, old p-piece of crap with p-p-points, p-p-plugs, condenser and coil wire. The coil wire's under the f-front seat."

Casey glared at him while Sarah just smirked.

"Casey, you were enjoying yourself entirely t-t-too m-m-much. Just remember, p-payb-backs are…p-paybacks are… sh-shit, I c-c-an't rem-m-member." He looked at his plate and sighed.

Sarah reached over and grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Chuck, it's OK, sweetheart. It'll all come back. Give it time."

"Yeah, intersect man, you were nearly a vegetable. We'll get it all back, Chuck. Don't sweat it." Gwen was upbeat and supportive. Casey was wondering if his little conditioning experiment had any effect on this.

"John, I know that look. It was a problem before the walk. No big deal." Gwen offered.

The afternoons were spent, weather permitting, at the outdoor range for 2 hours and then into the gym for strength and conditioning. The evenings were spent with Gwen and the speech therapist working on getting his speech back and discussing his recent experiences. He hated it, and was very vocal about it.

"Quit b-bugging m-m-me ab-b-bout this shit! I don't w-w-want to t-t-alk, OK?" He usually never finished a session, getting up and stalking off to walk around the compound, avoiding anyone and everyone.

He was horribly upset with his stuttering. He felt that subconsciously everyone he spoke with was mentally finishing his sentences when he got stuck on 'B' or 'D' or 'F'. He could see it in their faces. And so he spoke less and less, using short or one-word answers whenever possible.

Everyone noticed the quiet Chuck, a marked and noticeable change from the normally garrulous Chuck. Sarah bluntly asked him why he wasn't talking to her. If he was upset with her, she wanted to know it. That was part of the agreement.

"Your ag-g-greement. I'm n-not upset."

"Then why aren't you talking to me?"

"B-b-ecause y-you all try t-t-to f-f-finish my sentences. I hate that! I've b-b-become a f-f-fucking retard."

"Oh, Chuck, I'm so sorry if I've done that. I didn't mean to, really, sweetheart. If I did, I apologize, Chuck, for hurting your feelings."

"S'OK. I'm g-g-getting used t-to it. So I j-just listen a l-lot m-m-m-more."

Sarah squeezed his hand and suggested they go for a walk but he just said he was tired and going to bed instead. Casey would be there early and he wanted to get the walk over with.

Sarah knew he wasn't all that tired, just depressed at his lack of progress. Or at least she hoped it was that.

She went to see Gwen about it. "Gwen, he's getting really depressed and I'm getting worried. He won't talk and when he does he's careful to choose words he won't get hung up on, short sentences. He thinks people are mentally finishing his sentences for him and thinks he's become less of a man than before. I'm worried."

"Sarah, he's come a long way in a short time. I'm surprised at his progress. With some stroke patients it's a lifetime effort to speak. He's so much better than before. I won't promise him a full recovery and then have reality throw my words in his face. Depression is normal, Sarah. If it keeps up, I don't know what we'll do. I don't want to put him on any more drugs, so just keep talking to him, express pride in his accomplishments."

"On another subject, it's been more than 10 days since his surgery. When do the bandages come off? He's mentioned 'losing the damned turban' almost daily."

"Probably tomorrow. I'll check his incisions and burr holes and if things look good then it's OK for sex, and more aggressive conditioning. I took x-rays but haven't read them yet. I'm waiting for John to come by. I'll let you know tomorrow after his quickie physical. He's really coming along fine, Sarah."

"I wasn't asking about sex, Gwen, just, just I want to see him with hair. He'll feel better about himself if he doesn't have the damned turban on his head that he says shrieks 'brain damaged'. He's really becoming depressed about his speech. He doesn't want to talk at all."

**September 10 6:40am**

The target has been under observation for the past 3 days. All the handlers have been identified and categorized as to threat and priority of termination. The target has been walking the same track daily since September 3, each time being dropped a little further out by the male handler, identified as John Casey, NSA category 2, T1.

The distance out has now increased to seven miles and a rucksack with sand or rocks has been added as a strength and conditioning aid. The observer noted with extreme displeasure that the target's limp had become more pronounced and the steadiness of the stride less sure after the addition of a probable load of 50lbs the previous morning. Well, Casey would pay for his abuse with his life.

Three snipers had been tasked with the elimination of the target's support team. Casey, #1, would be eliminated by the simple expedient of putting a pound of C-4 plastic explosive in his vehicle. Team Leader, as a sign to begin cleaning up the remaining support staff, would trigger the explosive; priorities for the remaining opponents were NSA1 and NSA2, #2 & #3, Walker, #4 and Rivers, #5. Barring inclement weather, the target would be acquired and removed unharmed during the morning trek and all support targets eliminated by 0800hrs.

The Team Leader, code-named 'Looking Glass', would take out the target via tranquilizer dart. A helicopter would be standing by approximately 2 miles further down the track to evacuate the target and the operative Team Leader to a secure location. The three snipers would return to their regular duty stations at Eglin AFB, their offshore bank accounts each $50,000 larger.

Fulcrum had successfully infiltrated CIA Medical Facility and had been involved in his neurosurgery. A small device, barely as large as a small grape, had been placed in his mastoid cavity during his initial surgery. The same infiltrator had been able to learn the destination of the intersect host, Charles Bartowski, after his release from the hospital.

Team Leader volunteered to lead the extraction and elimination operation with conditions that were gladly met by the senior Fulcrum council. They would gain the intersect host and provide him with a handler and companion he would instinctively trust.

Once the situation was explained to him, his cooperation was assured. The money they would offer him would be astounding if it were to become public knowledge. This 'Chuck' would be a fool to turn down a small fortune in exchange for a few minutes of 'flashing' whenever required.

And then, of course, they would promise to remove the small device that was causing the speech, hearing and cognitive dissonance he was encountering. The device had two separate functions: to disrupt his cognitive abilities and slow his recovery and utility and, if his capture could not be executed, to release a deadly neurotoxin that would slowly disable the higher brain functions and kill him if he were to prove – 'uncooperative'.

**7:15am**

"Chuck, we're going for eight today. Here's a bottle of water and your rucksack. No rocks today. Sand, instead. Wet sand. I'll see you back at the bungalow by 9:30. Have a good time." Chuck hopped out of the jeep, took the offered water bottle and hefted the rucksack out of the back of the jeep.

"Thanks, C-Casey. B-Be sure and check the hood l-l-latches." He laughed and put on the rucksack and settled it as Casey frowned, threw him the finger and took off down the road. Chuck started off as Casey crested a small rise and the jeep disappeared from view."

Gwen Rivers had taken x-rays of Chuck's skull to ensure the boreholes weren't compromised but hadn't looked at them right away. She and Casey had gone for a moonlight walk and ended up back at her quarters. They finished showering in time for him to go pick up Chuck for his morning stroll. Now looking at the x-rays she was horrified to discover the device in Chuck's mastoid cavity. She called Casey immediately.

"Casey, secure."

"Casey, there's a bomb or something in Chuck's head. I just saw it on the x-rays I took. There must be a mole at the medical facility in Langley otherwise they'd have spotted it on the x-rays. Bring him in, Johnny, please." John Casey stopped the jeep and turned it off and walked down toward Chuck still on the phone. "Calm down, Gwen. Repeat what you said. There's what in his head"?

Team Leader watched the jeep crest and then settle over the rise, disappearing from sight and she was momentarily distracted by the target's act of settling the rucksack on his back and pocketing the water bottle. Cursing her lack of concentration, she pulled a small electronic device from her shoulder pocket and pressed the arming button then the execute button.

The explosion threw Casey off the track and into a tree knocking him into a tree rendering him unconscious and breaking his right forearm.

Gwen heard the explosion and went into 'agent mode' hitting the alarm and locking up the clinic as she ran down to 'bungalow row' to get Sarah. The bullet took her in the back of the head, killing her instantly.

Sarah Bartowski heard the alarm and ran out onto the verandah of their quarters. The bullet passed through her hair and barely broke the skin but spun her around and she fell to the porch, unconscious.

The two NSA agents had died almost simultaneously, shot in the head.

The three snipers rose from their hides, pulled off their Ghilly suits. With cell phones in hand, each of them went to their 'kills' and took photos to prove the target was dead. The two NSA agents were obviously dead since most of the head of each of them was missing. Dr. Rivers was obviously dead since the entire front of her forehead was simply gone due to hydrostatic pressure. The huge pool of blood surrounding the head and hair of Sarah Bartowski was obvious proof of a kill. They transmitted their photos to an email address and then took one of the SUVs and drove to their rally point and disappeared onto the vast military reservation.

Chuck heard the explosion and saw the smoke and flames and hit the shoulder releases for the rucksack and began to run toward the column of smoke over the slight rise in the track. He got 3 yards before the first of three darts hit him in the right thigh. He fell forward, sprawled out, one hand extended toward the column of smoke and his friend.

Team Leader rose from the hide site, pulled off the Ghilly suit and walked out and surveyed her prey. She squatted down and picked him up and threw him over her shoulder and walked down the track to where a 4-wheeler was hidden 100 yards away. She had 40 minutes to get to the extraction site.

It was another picture-perfect mission for the former CIA operative and assassin known to Chuck as 'Alice'.

* * *

A/N: If you're reading this it means I didn't croak. I knew I kept Alice popping in from time-to-time for a reason. NOW it's time for Sarah and Casey to get busy. A few more chapters and then I'm on to Undisciplined Intersect.

APR


	22. Wonderland

Flashback

_A/N: I'm surprised at the response to the quasi-epilogue. I do not have a twisted mind. I just view reality as it is while some of you still believe that the good guys always win, that the fifty cents under your pillow is really from the tooth fairy, that evil never really triumphs and that…never mind. I won't bring politics into the FF. _

_To answer some questions, go to YouTube and listen to Jefferson Airplane 'Go Ask Alice'. It's all there. [Do not mistake for the later Jefferson Starship]._

_Despite the best efforts of the medical establishment, I still suffer from an insufferably bad attitude…lol_

Armor-Plated-Rat

* * *

The helicopter was waiting in the designated location and they arrived with plenty of time to spare. The cargo was strapped to a collapsed gurney for the brief trip to the airfield and transfer to a waiting aircraft that would take them to their final island destination.

Seen from above, the training facility looked like an anthill that someone had stirred up and the ants were running around looking for someone or something to bite.

The activation of the alarm by Dr. Gwen Rivers had initiated a series of events long prescribed but never before used. No one had ever had the balls to take out a CIA facility in the continental United States until now.

Air Commandos from Eglin provided security. The CIA and NSA representatives scurried around identifying bodies and looking for anything that might lead them to their missing asset and the persons or organization that perpetrated such a heinous act.

Medical teams worked on the single survivor who was now conscious and extremely agitated. When one of the doctors attempted to sedate her for transport to a hospital for x-rays and observation she pulled a knife and threatened to cut his throat. Staggering to her feet, Sarah Walker Bartowski located her pistol and went hunting.

Fate intervened. The second sniper who'd taken the shot to eliminate the blonde agent was one of the Air Commandos tasked with security. As Sarah walked toward the track he turned and saw her, only yards away and blanched. She saw it and changed course for the airman, murder in her eye.

"Y-you're dead." The Air Commandos to either side stepped away and pointed their weapons at their comrade. He was an excellent sniper but a lousy actor. His self-control slipped and had signaled to Sarah that something was not right and hearing his muttered words she pointed her pistol at him demanding he drop his weapon and get on his knees. When he was slow to comply one of his comrades kicked him in the back of the knee and knocked him to his knees. The other wrenched his weapon from him and stepped back pointing his weapon at him.

Sarah walked to within a few feet of the kneeling man. Her head was pounding and she momentarily thought about her husband and his 'miraine-like' headaches that were the result of her assault on him. 'Oh, Chuck, if this is how you feel all the time…' She schooled her features into the face of the Agent that some had seen as their last sight on earth.

"Tell me everything and I'll kill you quickly. Five seconds." The kneeling man started to shout that a crazy woman was going to kill him but enough Air Commandos had heard his comments that word had gotten passed up the chain of command and the detachment commander came and stood by her side.

"Better tell her what she needs to know, Andrews. I would. Better quick and painless than slow and painful. Tell her everything, Andrews, you traitorous piece of shit."

The terrified man talked for almost ten minutes, interrupted by both Sarah and his C.O. asking for clarification of certain points, identities and times.

"Where have they taken the target? Is he still alive? What are their intentions?" She wouldn't cry.

"I don't know, I've told you everything I know. Maybe you can trace the money, I don't know. The woman named 'Looking Glass' was adamant that all of you had to die – especially the blonde agent. We took photos on our cells and emailed them to an address. Here, see for yourself. The money was transferred immediately once they got the photos."

Sarah turned to the commander and raised an eyebrow as if asking permission. "He's all yours, Agent. Must have been a training accident. Shame, but accidents do happen." He signaled his men to follow him and left. A few minutes later he heard the shot and grimaced. Well, it was all for the greater good.  


* * *

She found Casey being attended to by medics. She'd taken one of the SUVs and driven down the track hoping to find Casey and praying she didn't find two bodies. She'd quit crying by the fourth mile and had it totally together by the time she'd driven to the site of the burning jeep and her partner, John Casey. She hated being the one to tell him about Gwen but better her than one of the medics. She wouldn't cry.

"John, what's the damage?" Casey was lying on his back while a medic splinted his right arm and gave him something in preparation for transport. She had to know about Chuck and he had to know about Gwen.

"Broken arm, bruised muscles and ribs from that damned tree. I was out of the jeep talking to Gwen when it just blew up. Blast sent me into the tree and that's all I know until these guys showed up. I dropped Chuck about 100 yards or so further down the track and had turned around and was driving back when Gwen…called yelling about something in Chuck's x-rays, a bomb in his head and then …"

"She's gone, Casey. I'm sorry. Sniper hit her, the two NSA guys and then me. Somehow he only knocked me out. Bled a lot but I need to go down and check for Chuck." She squeezed his hand, ignoring the tears that escaped from his tightly closed eyes. She had been his One. And now she was gone. There would be no mercy for them. None at all. And she'd be there with him, every step of the way. They were partners. She wouldn't cry.

She drove the SUV down the macadam track until she spotted the rucksack in the middle of the road. This is where he was taken. She stopped the vehicle and got out and walked down to where the rucksack lay. She saw that the quick releases had been used and surmised that Chuck had seen the explosion and taken off running after dumping the ruck. She wouldn't cry.

She scanned the ground for a few yards towards the still smoking wreckage and saw a tranquilizer dart on the track. It must have torn out when he fell. She added it to the 'evidence' bag of things collected from the training center.

She walked around the edges of the track looking for anything else. She saw where the sniper had lain; the morning dew was missing from the area that had been occupied. That meant that they'd been under observation for some time and the enemy had gotten their patterns down and used those against the team. She would not cry.

She got in the SUV and drove further down the track away from the training center. She saw where a vehicle of some kind, one of those ATVs, pulled out of the brush beside the track and went east along the track. She continued on until she saw a large clearing to the left and the abandoned ATV. She hurried over and examined the ATV for signs of blood and breathing a sigh of relief and noting the debris and sand blown against its side looked at the ground around her.

She could see where the skids of a helicopter had settled into the sandy grass and then taken off with the assassin and her husband aboard. She finally allowed herself to cry.

* * *

**September 10 7:45pm  
Eglin AFB Command Center, Florida**

Director Graham, General Beckman and Dr. Foster as well as others Sarah did not recognize were in attendance at the tele-conference from Langley.

Casey was being held at the base hospital for treatment of a concussion, broken arm and several broken ribs as well as two ruptured vertebra in his back, all the result of his impact with the tree. He was not allowed to leave his bed and thus could not monitor the proceedings although Sarah had promised him a full briefing.

"Agent Bartowski are you well enough to proceed with this meeting? You have a severe concussion and should be in a bed in the same hospital as Major Casey. It will do Chuck no good to have you dead and unable to lead the search to find him."

"I'm fine, Director. Have you read my report? Can you update me on details you might have discovered?" She promised herself she would act in a professional manner to avoid any thought of being taken off the search team.

"Eglin AFB radar monitored a blip intermittently from the approximate location you described as the probable pick-up site until it was lost heading due east at approximately 8:10am. Nothing further has been developed. Satellite intel shows the chopper sitting there at 6:15am but gone by the next pass of another satellite at 8:40am." Sarah sighed. No clear trail to follow. No breadcrumbs.

"The commander of the Air Commando unit at Eglin has apprehended the other two snipers, both members of his command. He is vigorously interrogating them using all means at his disposal. They have recovered the two cell phones used to send confirmation photographs via email to a recipient account that is serviced in Mexico. Of course, it's bogus. We've learned nothing new, Agent Bartowski, I'm sorry."

"No idea who this 'Looking Glass' agent or operative is? Is she one of ours?"

"That code name has never been used by an agent. It's the code name for Air Force One used in the 60s and since changed. That's the only reference we could locate."

"So we have nothing to go on. No leads to pursue. We're finished. Is that what you're saying, Director? That we just write him off and hope they kill him rather than utilize his intersect capabilities?"

"No, no, not at all, Sarah. We're sifting through all our operatives and contacts looking for anyone out of touch or missing. Defections to Fulcrum are usually not publicized, you know that. We have to look for the missing piece of the puzzle."

Dr. Foster finally made herself heard. "We've investigated all the personnel at the facility where, uh, Agent Bartowski was treated. I've been informed that 2 surgeons and 3 nurses are unable to be contacted using normal means. Teams dispatched to bring them in have reported that their residences or apartments are abandoned."

"I have to assume one of the surgeons was responsible for placing the unknown object in the patient's mastoid cavity during surgery. The entire team would have to have been compromised to accomplish such action. We are continuing our search using NSA and CIA agents as well as radio telemetry from satellites."

"Radio telemetry?" Sarah had no idea what that meant.

"During the initial surgery a tiny transponder, almost microscopic in size, was placed in the sinus cavity of the patient. The transponder is powered by the patient's own brain, using electrical impulses. It is a passive device, transmitting only when 'interrogated' by a specific signal frequency and length. Think of it as a IFF on a fighter jet."

"You put a thing in my husband's head without his or my permission, so you could 'find' him? Is that right, Director?" She was horrified. If they could put a 'bug' in his brain, what else had they done? What else would they do to control their fucking precious intersect?

"Yes, that's correct. Please understand that it's harmless, passive and totally undetectable since it's made of non-ferrous material, invisible to x-rays."

"My God, how do I know it wasn't you who put the 'thing' in his mastoid cavity? If you'd put a tracking device, why not a bomb to cover your precious asses and ensure his behavior while he was in your control and his elimination if he became a captive or obsolete? What kind of monsters are you?" She was horrified at the thought of her Chuck having 'things' in his brain that could kill him.

"Agent, you're understandably upset and overwrought. We put this in his head to be able to locate him should just such a situation arise. Put a bomb in his head? Never. A bullet, maybe, should the need arise, but not a bomb." He looked like he'd eaten something sour.

"Oh, how nice of you to define the distinctions so clearly for me. So what good is the tracking device? I'm sure you've already tried to use it, haven't you? What's the problem?" She wished they were here so she could put a bullet into each of their warped and perverted minds. God help the greater good if these were its guardians.

* * *

**Unknown location  
Caribbean Island Chain  
September 11 4am local time**

Awareness comes slowly. His head is splitting and he's certain that someone has put a pair of Casey's sweat socks in his mouth. The taste is terrible. He tries to wipe his face but his wrists are in restraints. He slowly tries to lift a foot, quickly finding that both are secured. Opening his eyes slowly, just a crack, he sees – nothing. It is dark and he has no idea where he is. He identifies the soft beeping of a heart monitor. Back in the hospital? There's a nasal canula blowing a cool breeze of oxygen into this nose. That accounted for the rank taste in his very dry mouth. He remembered an explosion and turning and running and then sharp stinging pains and then falling and then…nothing until now.

'Alice' sits in a corner of the bedroom in the dark, watching and listening to her asset as he silently tests his environment. She nods in approval. He is a worthy choice. As his breathing eases into a regular pattern she leaves the room and walks out into the living room of his 'secured facility'. All her preparations are complete. All the pieces and players are positioned. Their bank account will soon be $10 million dollars larger and regular monthly payments will only increase their balance. She and Chuck will be set for a long and happy life together.  


* * *

**Unknown location  
Caribbean Island Chain  
September 11 11am local time**

'Alice' draws back the heavy draperies from the French doors that lead out onto a balcony overlooking the shoreline. The sun flows into the room and she opens the double doors letting the tangy smell of sea and surf fill the room.

She releases each of the restraints and turns off the heart monitor and removes the nasal canula and then looks at the 'patient' in the hospital bed. She deftly injects a drug into the port of the IV running into the back of his hand and then sits on the edge of his bed schooling her features into a warm but concerned woman.

The surgeons at the Florida hive had removed the appliance from his mastoid cavity and 'created' a bullet wound in his upper thigh to explain his situation. They had also provided her with a more than adequate supply of the pills Dr. Rivers had prescribed for his 'migraine-like' headaches.

She takes his right hand in hers and rubs the back of his with her thumb. He should awaken within a few minutes and she wants to be prepared for his questions and his inevitable rage and grief. She has the 'official' folder containing the photographs taken at the training facility by the snipers. Everything is ready.

This time awareness hits him like a hammer. Just like the one hitting him behind his left ear. His right thigh throbbed in time with his heart and he remembered the sharp pains in his thigh before everything went gray then black.

He opened his eyes but his vision was blurred and all he could make out was a vague shape of a woman silhouetted against a bright sun-filled window. The air smelled like…the ocean. She was holding his hand and lightly rubbing her thumb across the back of it.

"Sssarah?" His mouth was all dry and cottony and his throat was dry and scratchy. Definitely oxygen. He remembered from his earlier attempt to join the living.

"No, Chuck, I'm sorry. It's not Sarah. It's Alice, remember? Alice from the backup singers in Serbia? I'm your security while you're here, Chuck. You don't remember anything about the Fulcrum assault on the training facility in Florida?"

"Where's Sarah? Where's 'here'. Alice, why am I in a hospital again?"

"Sarah – oh, Chuck, Sarah's gone, they're all gone. Dr. Rivers, Major Casey and your Sarah…all murdered by Fulcrum." She injected sadness into her voice when speaking about the team and murderous hardness when she mentioned Fulcrum. Perfect.

"No, no, no… not Sarah? Oh, please God, not Sarah!" He broke down in sobs saying his wife's name over and over again.

"Shhh, I know it hurts but you have to stay calm. Your surgery was touch and go and the leg wound – you don't need to be moving about, Chuck. Please, I know it hurts but you have to take care of yourself. You're the best bet for catching the bastards who murdered your team. The only hope, really."

"No, I don't believe it. She can't be dead. She just can't be. We were making such progress. We had a plan. She was going to tell me everything and I was going to deal with my fear. It can't be true, Alice. It just can't be."

"I took these from the team that brought us here, Chuck. They took these in Florida. I was part of the response team, Chuck. I've been assigned to you 24/7 until we know you're safe and we bring these bastards down. I made them promise to keep you in the loop every step of the way." She put the folder of photographs on his chest where he could look at them after awakening.

"You can help, Chuck, by using the intersect. You'll see. But right now, rest, Chuck. I'll be right here if you need anything. Anything at all. Now, try and sleep. This is just a sedative to help you sleep." She injected the sedative into the IV port and within seconds he was asleep.

She had to build the rapport she knew was necessary to control her asset. Eventually, and she was prepared to wait months if necessary, he would love her, be in love with her, and then they would slip away, off the grid, and live the life she's always dreamed of.

But for now, she had to appear stoic, supportive but distant and respectful of his very real grief. His love for his handler had been real. Walker had simply been exploiting the love of a wonderful man to accomplish her mission.

She opened the folder and looked again at each of the 8 X 10 color photos, artfully enhanced by the people at Fulcrum to show the wounds and blood. The picture of Sarah Walker was almost a work of art. Long blonde hair spread out in a fan with a pool of blood outlining it. Yes, a work of art. There was no doubt she was dead.

* * *

**Casa Woodcombe  
Los Angeles, CA  
September 12 6am local time**

A barely awake Ellie Woodcombe answered her cell phone without bothering to check the caller ID.

"This better be good, damn it, I'm off today. Let one of the other partners handle it. It's my first long weekend in months."

"Ellie, it's Sarah. Ellie, Chuck. They've got Chuck. They killed Gwen and shot me and blew up Casey. He's gone, sis, gone, and I'm so lost without him. No one has a clue where he might be. Their tracking system is only good for 50 miles and he could be anywhere in the world by now. Oh, Ellie, he's all alone and those bastards…we don't know what they'll do to him. I'm so afraid."

"Wait, wait, Sarah, who has Chuck? Is he alive? Is…is Casey dead? Little Gwen from Langley, she's dead, too? My God, what happened? Do I need to come there? Are you handling things alright?"

Devon woke to the shouting. "Who's dead? Chuck? No way. Ellie, is Chuck OK?"

"Shut up, Devon, it's Sarah. Chuck's…they don't know if he's alive or not. Mom's assistant was killed and so was John Casey. Sarah's been wounded and Chuck's been…kidnapped because he knows some secret government programs. It's his job and now he's been taken. Go make coffee, honey, strong coffee."

"Ellie, I just wanted you to know. Casey's not dead he was just blown up. I mean, shit, he's hurt but going to be better soon. We're doing everything we can to get him back. I won't rest until he's safe and sound with me and you can bet on that. If they hurt just one hair on his head, hundreds will die, Ellie. Casey and I will kill anyone in our way."

"We're going to find him, I promise. I'll keep you posted but that's all we have right now. Pray for us because we don't have a clue where he is or who took him. No ransom demand, no nothing."

"You call me anytime, sis, anytime. I need to know what's going on and you need to vent. So, please, Sarah, call me anytime."

"He was making such good progress in such a short time, Ellie. He was walking 8 miles every morning then working in the gym and then getting speech and physical therapy and now…I just…I'll call you, I promise. I have to go."

* * *

**Unknown location  
Caribbean Island Chain  
September 12 8pm local time**

It was still daylight when he awoke from a horrible dream. Sarah, Gwen and Casey had been killed and he was again in the hospital. Then reality came crashing down on him. He turned on the lamp beside the hospital bed and reached for the folder still on his chest.

The first two photos were of the NSA agents, both dead from head shots. The second photo was of Gwen Rivers, her petite features marred by a missing forehead. The final photo was of Agent Sarah Walker Bartowski. Her hair was spread out above and beside her head like a fan. Her face was slightly away from the camera and it looked like she was asleep. Her long and elegant neck showed none of the strain the angle of her head would have caused. She looked like she was asleep – except for the pool of blood her head and hair rested in.

Alice sat in the living room reading a novel. She heard her asset sobbing and turned back to her reading. Grief was something she'd experienced in sufficient quantities to recognize his stage of progression. He would think it was a lie. He would deny she was dead and begin weaving complex scenarios to explain the photograph. That would last until morning if he didn't sleep.

Sighing, she walked into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers. "Chuck, I'm sorry. I do know how you feel. And I know you're imagining that this is some horrible trick by the CIA or Fulcrum to convince you she's dead. I wish I could say it was but we both know it's not."

"Chuck, you need to turn your grief into rage at the ones who did this. You have to stoke the rage until it's time to unleash it on those Fulcrum bastards. But for now, you have to sleep, mend and get strong so we can take the fight to them. I'll help you any way I can. You were there for me in Serbia and you understood how I felt. Well, I'm here for you now, Chuck. I have no other purpose other than supporting your recovery and then your revenge."

"It won't be like Serbia, Chuck. You will have your revenge and they will pay for what they did to your wife, Chuck. Honor and love demand it. No one will stop you. And I will only help you, not hinder you. They promised."

"Now, you darling man, cry for your lost love and then sleep. Tomorrow we will meet with Graham and Beckman via teleconference and we will begin our march towards vengeance. Use your tools, use the intersect, bring them to justice."

She kissed his forehead and took the folder and set it on the table and turned off the light. In the dark she slipped a capped syringe from her shirt pocket and quickly injected the contents into his IV port. He would sleep, undisturbed by dreams, and in the morning they'd begin. She capped the syringe and disposed of it in the sharps bag.

* * *

A/N: Beckman and Graham via teleconference? What's up with that? Hahaha

APR


	23. Coming to Terms with Reality

_A/N: Another installment. No end in sight. At least not that I can see with ONE eye...lol_

_Armor-Plated-Rat  


* * *

_**Unknown location  
Caribbean Island Chain  
September 13 9am local time**

Alice made certain Chuck had taken his meds and eaten a decent breakfast. She was worried about his health. He'd lost weight and the 'conditioning' hadn't progressed enough to add more than a few ounces to his too-thin frame.

"Chuck, please. I know you want to die. I know you have no appetite, but you have to eat in order to rebuild yourself physically so we can go after those bastards who killed our friends and kill _them_. Please, Chuck, eat for Sarah and Casey and Gwen. You owe it to them. They died for _you_, live for _them_."

It worked. He ate. Not all of it but more than she'd expected. She felt so much better knowing he'd made the unconscious decision to live – even if it were for invalid reasons.

"Now, how do you feel about getting rid of the catheter, getting dressed and trying to take a few steps out into the living room? I'll be with you all the way, Chuck, all the way. And, shit, Chuck, it's just you and me here. This is your 'bunker' but it's really an island paradise. It's just until the big shots feel it's safe to return and begin hunting down Fulcrum. Don't hate me. Please? I didn't lie to you. I just didn't think you needed to have all this shit on your head at one time."

Chuck heard 'bunker' and looked again out the French doors to the sea. Some bunker. He looked over at Alice and saw tears in her eyes. He didn't know why. He was still free of the dark hole and he had a goal. Kill the bastards that had killed his Sarah and his friends. He didn't blame her for anything. She shouldn't be crying. God, was she afraid of him?

"Hey, Alice, don't cry. I appreciate all you've done. If this is a bunker, I should have volunteered earlier. It's beautiful here. Thank you. Really, it's OK. Please don't cry."

"Chuck, the catheter…it has to come out and I don't think you can do it yourself. They showed me how. I hate to embarrass you or hurt you. But it needs to come out, Chuck."

He blushed and turned away. He never thought about how it got in or out. He'd always been either unconscious or unaware. Well, it had to be done.

"Go ahead. I trust you, Alice. You're about the only one I do trust. Don't expect a lot of sympathy from me for Beckman and Graham. But I trust you and am sorry you have to do this. It's demeaning for someone like you but you're right, I can't do it myself. Go ahead. I'll just close my eyes and hope I don't give you a girly scream."

She laughed and pulled down the sheets and pushed up his gown. The catheter was easily removed. He was just being a guy. But what a man he was also. Soon. "OK, on three, Chuck. Ready?" She didn't wait for an answer and deflated the bulb and removed it in one motion.

"Whoa…um, give me a minute, please? I just need to…um, OK. Let's try getting me up and mobile. When can I lose the turban and get dressed?"

"Now for the turban. And I'll help you get dressed. You'll need help showering until you can put weight on the leg and we can lose the dressing. It wasn't a bad wound, didn't even hit the bone."

Thirty minutes later he felt the cool breezes on his head and saw the nasty, bloody and greasy hair he'd hidden for several weeks.

"Alice, please, I need to wash my hair. I smell like shit. Can you help me if we just do it in the sink?"

"Sure but I want to take out those stitches also. So we'll kill two birds with one stone."

The bathroom was huge with a shower and separate tub. The tub could handle two easily. He and Sarah would have such…

"Chuck, what's wrong? Are you in pain? Chuck, talk to me."

"I forgot she's dead. I was thinking about the tub and us, that's all. Sorry. No hysterics, I promise."

* * *

An hour later they walked and hobbled into the living room where a laptop was on the table. By the time they reached the couch he was depending on her almost totally for support.

"Chuck, things are primitive down here. I don't know how good the conference will be. We should be able to get both audio and visual but if not, definitely audio."

The conference was scheduled for noon and they had a few minutes to go. Alice insisted he sit and relax while she puttered around making lunch for them. Nothing special, just a Caesar salad and iced tea.

The laptop connected and the image of the NSA floated around the screen jerkily. Obviously their connect speed left a lot to be desired. Finally the image of General Beckman and Director Graham appeared. Audio was excellent but the visual was halting and buffering constantly. It distracted Chuck to the point that it was agreed to go audio only.

"Chuck, my condolences on the death of your wife. We miss her, nothing like you must, but we do. Now, we're going to have to email some photos to Alice and she'll get your flashes from them. Stop any intersect activity, Chuck, if you begin to get nauseous or a nosebleed, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am. Review pictures; stop if flash causes sickness or bleeding. Please, let's move along with this. I can handle the dailies, General. I want to do my part. Send them via secure email and I'll review them and Alice will transmit the reports on any flashes. I have to help, General. Please."

Director Graham's voice crackled through the small speakers. "Chuck, that's admirable but your health comes first. Let's start in small pieces. We'll send photos of suspected Fulcrum agents and you report back. Small bites, Chuck. And stop if things get bad."

"Understood, General, Director. Thank you."

The conference ended on that note. Alice beamed at Chuck. Such courage. It didn't matter that the voices were computer-created. He was responding to the challenge. Fulcrum would send the first installment to her, correction, their, Cayman account.

"Chuck, please. Stop if you hurt. Stop if you bleed. Don't risk it. You'll get stronger as time goes by. I've got a physical program outlined. We'll take walks down the beach, into the village, all around the island. When the leg heals we'll swim and rebuild you muscles."

"Great. You're great. Thank you, Alice. You're saving my life and I don't even know your real name. Are you allowed to tell me or will it break the rules?"

She was thrilled. A really personal question and the opportunity to gain trust with him.

"My birth name is Rebecca Piersall but I really prefer Becky. Rebecca is so old-fashioned but I like it. I was named after my grandmother. Definitely old-school, Chuck."

Chuck was blown away. She'd told him this quickly what Sarah had taken months to do. "So you're not really from Serbia?"

"Oh, no, my mother is from Serbia but my father is from Cleveland. They met, fell in love and married and then, well, there came me and Naomi and Lucas and then the baby of the fam…um, Sarah, Chuck. My baby sister is named Sarah." She teared up and turned away from him but he gently grabbed her arm and turned her back to him.

"Hey, it's OK. I think it's wonderful that you have a large family and… don't feel bad, Becky, it's your sister and it's a beautiful name."

She hugged him, her difference in height working to put her head just under his chin. "I'm still sorry I hurt you, even unintentionally. I'll be more careful in the future."

Feeling trapped, he pushed her away but smiled to take out the sting. "Just be yourself. The world won't stop if I hear her name or think of her. Just be yourself. You can't work with me if you're afraid to speak to me, Becky."

"I know, Chuck, but I feel badly when I remind you of her. I know what you're feeling, really I do. "

"Let's just take it a day at a time, Becky. We'll see what happens. For now, please monitor your email account. I want to get started. I've been useless long enough. It's time to get back in the game."

* * *

**CIA Headquarters  
Langley, VA  
September 13, 1pm**

Sarah Bartowski was livid. They'd flown back to the CIA headquarters and Casey had been transferred to a hospital for further tests on his back and possible surgery. She had been sent from one office to another before finally someone had information for her. The search had been put on a back burner because of technical difficulties at the NSA.

When she'd called General Beckman she'd been nicely told to buzz off by an administrative aide and that the General would return her call if and when she found the time in her busy schedule. That put her into a rage.

She called her Director and he took the call without hesitation.

"Graham, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. Director, what's the deal with calling off the search? I thought the NSA had all this spy-in-the-sky shit and it would work wonders?"

"Problem is with the range of the transponder. Satellites orbit higher than 50 miles and those with lower orbits aren't equipped to send or receive the transponder signals. They're working on slipping a program into all commercial airlines flights to use those to aid in getting a hit on the transponder. It's taking more time than expected."

"And what am I supposed to do in the meantime, Director. My husband is out there someplace, in the hands of Fulcrum, and all I'm doing is going from office to office like some homeless waif. I need something constructive to do on this mess."

"Why don't you review all the contacts for the past 2 months and see if anything leaps out at you. We really need to find the mole here at Langley. You'd be doing the Agency a great service if you could help us find him or her."

"I'll start immediately. When Casey's free, I want to add him back to my search team, any problems with that?"

"No, as long as Beckman approves."

Sarah started by interviewing all the survivors of the Serbia mission. The two ghosts were on deep insertion but she was able to talk with one of them but other than condolences and hopes for a positive outcome, he had nothing to add. He suggested locating Alice and questioning her. She'd been an agent 11 years and was known to have 'unusual' contacts in the field. He knew her by reputation only other than the brief time in Belgrade, but he was able to provide her with a name: Rebecca Piersall.

Using her new levels of security, she asked for and received the file on 'Alice', Agent Rebecca Piersall. The first red flag was the date of death prominent in the file and the large stamp 'Missing – Presumed Dead'. Sarah looked at the file photo and shook her head. Rebecca Piersall was African American and definitely not 'Alice' as she remembered her. 'Fully vetted' was what Casey had told her. Who vetted them?  


* * *

**Unknown location  
Caribbean Island Chain  
September 14 2:30am local time**

Chuck was awakened from a fairly deep sleep by the sound of sobbing coming from the living room. He threw off the sheet and twisted his body around so he could land on his feet facing the bed and use it for support.

He looked at the 6 feet separating him from the end of the bed he was holding on to and the closed door leading from his 'bedroom' to the living room. Six feet might as well been a mile. His upper thigh was already throbbing with the exertion of standing but he couldn't ignore the heartbroken sobs coming from the living room.

Taking a deep breath he stepped quickly to the door, grasping the knob and leaning against the door, out of breath due to the shooting pains going up his leg from the exertion and stretching of the muscles. He could have happily sat down and not moved again but he had to help Alice. She'd been there for him, now it was his turn.

Stepping back from the door on his good leg he opened it and surveyed the darkened living room. The quiet sobs were coming from the couch. Why wasn't she in bed?

If he remembered correctly, the couch was about 30 degrees from his room and about 5 feet away with nothing between him and the back of the couch. Taking a deep breath he 'launched' himself forward, starting with his good leg and trying to maintain balance and forward motion by locking the knee of his right. Three steps and he'd made it to the back of the couch and he was hanging on, trying not to fall.

"Chuck, Chuck, what's wrong? You shouldn't be on that leg unsupported. Wait a minute; let me help you back to bed. I'm sorry if I woke you."

"No. Stop. Please. Don't be so damned professional. It's just you and me here and you're obviously upset about something. Talk to me, Becky. Tell me what's wrong and if at all possible, I'll fix it. If it's something I've done…"

"No! It's nothing you've done. Here, get off your leg. Let me help you around to the couch and you sit down."

He managed the few steps to the couch and gratefully lowered himself to the cushions. Then she started in on him.

"Damn it, Chuck, you could pull those stitches and start hemorrhaging and I don't know how to handle that big a medical problem. You should have called me if you needed help getting to the bathroom. You're sweating and I know you're hurting. Do you need those white pills you took in Serbia? I have a small supply here from the doctors."

"No, they're for my headaches. Quit changing the damned subject Becky, you're acting just like Sarah does, packing it all away until one day it just burst out on you and makes life hell. Talk to me, Becky. Don't go all 'Agenty' on me."

"It's not important and it's really none of your concern, Chuck. You've been around long enough to know about 'need to know'. You don't need to know."

"Fine. Then I'll just sit here and pout. I'm famous for my pouting. Ask Sarah. She'll…aw, shit. She's dead. I forgot my wife is dead. Sorry. I'll get out of your hair. Please, just help me stand and I can handle the distance OK."

He couldn't see her face against the moon glow from the sea but she could see his. She could see the anguish and sorrow on his face and the first of probably many tears slide down his left cheek across his scar and then down finally dripping off his jaw onto his t-shirt.

"No, Chuck. Sit and rest a few minutes. You did that all on your own and that's progress but you never should have chanced it without me by your side. Suppose you'd fallen? You might have undone all the work the surgeons had done and set back your recovery and revenge weeks."

"You were crying, sobbing, and I just couldn't ignore it. It was so heart wrenching and whatever you were crying about, I just wanted to help ease your pain or just give you a shoulder to cry on. Nothing else, Becky, I promise."

She got up and walked out onto the balcony and leaned against the rail, wrapping herself in her arms. It couldn't be this easy? It shouldn't be this easy. He was following the path the psychs had profiled and they were a month ahead of schedule. Her grip on herself tightened. Soon. He didn't need manipulation; all he needed was another person in 'greater need' than himself. The profilers missed that. She should have known given his response to her in the SUV both before and after the Salvo Bridge mission.

Screwing up her face and forcing tears, she turned and walked slowly over to him and held out both her hands. "Here, let me help you up. I'm sorry I woke you. It won't happen again. Let me get you back to your bed. Your leg will be killing you in the morning, Chuck. Let me know if you need some relief." Tear tracks lined her face and she deliberately turned him so her face was lit by the moonlight and glow off the sea.

He reached out and brushed away her tears. She knew she would have to steel herself to avoid a more physical moment. To do so would ruin the mood and set back her timetable.

"Chuck, up. Bed. We'll talk tomorrow, I promise. Just not right now, please? I'm just not ready to talk about it with anyone, not even you. It's just too soon."

She played back his emotions against him. Gave him another broken soul to deal with. Gave him someplace to put his feelings and needs. It wouldn't take as long as they'd planned. No long at all.

**Walter Reed Military Hospital  
Washington, DC  
September 14, 2pm**

"Well, Casey, it's good to know you won't have to have surgery, just wear a brace until the muscles heal – and avoid being blown up into trees." Sarah spoke quietly, knowing the pain both of them felt dwarfed the physical pain.

"Yeah, and I'm ready for action, so don't keep me in suspense, what do you know and what do you suspect. I've already spoken with the General. We're a team with sanction authority at the highest levels. I get out of here later this week, maybe as early as tomorrow."

"Casey, who vetted the backup singers?"

"Someone at CIA in Langley. That's how they slipped Gwen into the mix. Chuck didn't flash on her file since she wasn't a field agent but a contract specialist but he still caught her real role and then flashed on her history. Why?"

"Because Alice isn't Alice. Unless she bleached her skin, dropped 3 inches in height and came back from the dead." She handed him a copy of Rebecca Piersall's CIA file.

"Damn it. We need to find out who ran the recruitment for the backup singers. First Gwen, but I think that was deliberate, and now Alice. You got any ideas?"

"Yeah, we hit up the Director with what we know and work back from there. Someone has to know who Alice really is. She's not in the database or Chuck would have picked up on her. The real Rebecca Piersall would have been removed from the intersect files via download refresher or once the KIA flag was on the file, he ignored it but that's not likely."

Sarah had requested an appointment with the Director at his earliest convenience that proved to be 7am the next morning.  


* * *

**CIA Headquarters  
Langley, VA  
September 15 7am**

"Casey, good to see you up and about. I understand from General Beckman that you went AWOL from Walter Reed, well, if you get any shit tell them I ordered you here for this meeting. Now, what's so important?"

Sarah reviewed the information she'd uncovered and the trail she'd established. Rebecca Piersall had been a top-notch agent with a history of getting things done through unusual means.

Director Graham filled in many of the gaps in her recent assignment periods.

She'd disappeared working an assignment in the Bahama Islands while tracing money and people from leads generated from information gleaned from captured Fulcrum agents or files of destroyed hives. Her job was to find the Paymaster and identify the members of the Senior Council that 'governed' Fulcrum and it's operations. She was trying to link people with the movement of funds from the US to offshore banks and back again.

"We, er, Director, I believe that 'Alice' is Rebecca Piersall or whoever assumed her identity. How was she selected? Who vetted her?"

"Cameron Townes. She's over all our 'special team selections'. She right down the hall. Sarah, you don't think she's Fulcrum, do you? I've known Cameron for years. She's as loyal as you or I. Hell, her husband is in Afghanistan and works with the Agency."

"Won't know until she's confronted. Thank you for your time, Director. We'll pull her files, her financials, everything before approaching her. And run it all by you first."

"Good. It shouldn't take too long. Get right to it, Sarah. We'll find him."

But would she find her husband or his body?  


* * *

_A/N: Smaller chapters but daily if the eyeball doesn't fall out and roll across the floor. lol.  
APR_


	24. Circles within Circles within Circles

Flashback 22

A/N: Don't panic with my numbering scheme. I haven't missed chapters. This one is short since a) I have to see the quack to get the eye examined and b) I have TWO tailgate parties – the LSU game and the Saints. So suck it up.

Armor-Plated-Rat  


* * *

**Unknown location  
Caribbean Island Chain  
September 14 6am local time**

Chuck woke up to an urgent call from his bladder to either get up or float in it. Groaning, he rolled over on his side and slid out of bed onto his 'strong' leg and hop-limped to the bathroom. Somewhere along the way he caught a whiff of himself and almost gagged. He needed a shower. Looking down at his thigh he gauged the size of the surgical dressing against the average plastic bag and figured he could use the surgical tape in the first aid kit to seal off the wound. He had a plan to de-stench himself. He drained the proverbial lizard and turned to go to the kitchen.

Limp-stepping out through the bedroom and the living area he got to the kitchen but had to sit down. He couldn't believe he was tired after a brisk 30-foot walk. Sitting down at the kitchen table he glanced up and saw Becky asleep on the couch, a sheet covering her. Her eyes were still puffy from the late night crying jag and he knew she needed her sleep to recover her emotional equilibrium. He knew that he had to be strong for the both of them for a while if for no other reason than his desire to avenge Sarah.

Looking through the cabinets, he found what he wanted in the pantry. Hop-skip-limping back to his room he quietly closed the door and staggered into the bathroom. He was a physical wreck after such a simple thing as a bullet wound. He'd felt stronger and better after his stroke. Well, at least the stuttering was gone. He'd realized it last night. It was the only bright thing in his life.

He taped the plastic bag over his dressing and turned on the shower and stepped in. Thanking whoever picked this place for the handheld shower, he washed his hair using her shampoo and washed the rest of him using her body wash. Apparently the perfect CIA companion had forgotten that he was a guy and smelling like apricots while nice on a woman, it just didn't make a guy feel really…manly.

He laughed to himself. Sarah would have razzed him to no end about smelling girly. His laughter turned into wrenching sobs and he lost his grip on the wall and slowly sank down on the shower floor and cried. He'd thought of her in the past tense for the first time and it hurt so much that he couldn't do anything other than sob and breathe.

Alice had heard Chuck turn on the shower and smiled. He would overcome any obstacle put in his way to attain his goal. This goal was to be clean. If he hadn't done it himself she was going to suggest it. He really reeked. They'd deliberately foregone any bathing while he was at the hive facility to add authenticity to the situation and to simulate the passage of time.

She got up off the couch and pulled the sheet around her and wandered into the kitchen and made coffee. He'd be out in a few minutes smelling like she used to smell a long while ago and perhaps the subtle cues would help them bond more rapidly.

She went back to the other smaller bedroom dominated by a queen-sized 4-poster bed and dressed in a t-shirt minus the bra and short shorts and sandals. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and then went in search of Chuck to monitor his progress.

She heard him sobbing and for a second feared he'd fallen and undone all the work the facility had done. But listening at the door she knew he was just grieving for a woman who didn't appreciate or deserve him, who used him to accomplish her mission for the greater good, who'd almost murdered him during a psychotic episode. The loss of the intersect host would have been incalculable but the loss of Chuck would have killed Becky.

She waited until things calmed down a bit then rushed in and opened the shower door. "Oh, Chuck, did you fall? You should have called me to help you. Damn it, Chuck, it's my job to protect you, even from yourself. I'm here to help you recover and get back in the game. I can't do that if you don't trust me, Chuck. I guess I'll ask Graham for a replacement. Maybe someone who didn't know you before. Back when you were a primal force of nature kinda guy. The guy who scared the shit out of the ghosts even."

"NO! No one else but you, Becky. I trust you. I just wanted to let you sleep-in and really, I just wanted to be a little more self-sufficient and self-reliant. I hate being dependent and I really hate smelling like shit. Please, I do trust you. Remember the bridge. Just like that."

Self-reliant. Strong. Dominant. Just like before. She would have it back and never be foolish enough to let him slip away. Never.

She whipped off her t-shirt and threw it in the corner and bent down to help him up. "I only have so many clothes so tough shit if you can't handle a little skin, Chuck. We're both here on a rather skimpy budget clothes-wise. And the nearest Laundromat is miles away on another island so sorry but I have to have my priorities too, you big dork!" She pulled him up against her, ignoring the tightening of her nipples and the sudden warmth at her core. Too soon. Too damned soon, but he felt so good.

Mentally shaking herself, she helped him up and back into his room and onto the bed. Chuck seemed oblivious to his own nudity and was looking anywhere but at Becky. She went back into the bathroom and threw a towel across his lap, laughing.

"If you can get into a shower, you can damn well dry yourself. Let me know when you're decent and I'll check the incision and change the dressing. Smooth move on the plastic bag. I was wondering how I was going to get the stink off you without compromising the dressing."

She laughed and walked back out into the living room grinning like an idiot. Sometimes work could be fun.  


* * *

**CIA Headquarters – Admin Section  
Langley, VA  
September 14 10:45am**

Sarah and Casey appeared at Mrs. Townes' office unannounced. Sarah displayed her credentials but it was Casey's badge that caught the secretary's attention.

"Just a moment and I'll see if she's free to see you." The secretary wasn't sure her boss wanted a surprise visit from the NSA. She walked to the oak double doors, knocked and then entered. Before the door could close, however, Casey had pushed the door open and sidestepped the flustered secretary and approached the executive.

"I'm Major John Casey of the NSA and this is my partner, Sarah Walker. We're investigating some irregularities in assignments that have come to the attention of the Joint Committee on Resource Allocation. We'd appreciate a few moments of your time to advise us how to proceed." He didn't mention Sarah's married name and there was no "Joint Committee on Resource Allocation". He'd learned to bullshit from Chuck.

"You want my advice? On what, specifically?" Her BS detector was flashing 'danger – high concentrations detected'. She'd been a bureaucrat too long to miss the inferences.

Sarah could handle the niceties no longer. She drew out her weapon, walked behind the administrator's desk and pushed the pistol into her belly, forcing her to sit down.

"I want to know, specifically, how you managed to allow a dead agent on the protective detail of a very important government resource. More specifically, why the fuck did you allow Agent Rebecca Piersall to be assigned to an operation in Serbia when she's been missing for a year. You have 15 seconds before I start messing with your fingers."

"You're insane. Leave. Get out of here at once. Do you know who you're dealing with here?"

"Sarah, shoot off her pinkie first. If we're wrong, it's less noticeable. If we're right, all those nerve endings for the whole hand pass through it. Wonderful pain magnifier."

"Right. 10 seconds, Cameron."

"9 seconds."

"8 seconds."

"Sarah, just shoot the bitch. You're wasting time we don't have."

"6 seconds."

Casey reached over with his silenced 9mm and shot the woman in the hand. She started to scream but Sarah stuffed the woman's scarf into her mouth while glaring at John. "Damn it, I had 5 more seconds."

The blubbering woman blurted out that Fulcrum had paid her a fortune to pass on a member of a select team of operatives bound for Serbia. She did it for the money.

"Who was the woman? Who – Was – The – Woman?" Sarah was sure they could hear her in the Oval Office but she didn't care.

"I don't know, just that she was…not who she said she was. She'd had surgery, voice alteration and her prints belonged to the dead agent Fulcrum had taken out. She was a new person. That's all I know, please."

"Casey, call the Director. She knows more, I'm certain of it. Get her down to interrogation. Tell them it's a Code Zebra-7 priority. No rules, no limitations, just answers. They have an hour to get it done before I do it with my knives."

Thirty minutes later the Director called Sarah and asked her to meet him outside the building.

Sarah and Casey found him sitting on a bench under a tree smoking a cigarette.

"Director, did she crack?"

"Yes. Both the agent known as 'Alice' and the ghost we can't locate were Fulcrum plants. We don't know their real mission since they missed many opportunities to take Chuck out of the picture or kidnap him. Fulcrum suddenly has a lot of money to throw around. It would be nice to know the source. Apparently they're using the Cayman Islands banks for their money transfers and all the transfers terminated here in DC in various accounts. We're still tracking the money, Sarah, but it's like a ball of twine. Damn, we really need Chuck for this."

"Well, I need him for more than unraveling your twine ball. I guess Casey and I are off to the Caymans. Casey, you up to it? Your back and arm must be killing you."

"I don't feel a thing, Sarah. Just a cold ball of hate in the pit of my stomach. If the Director can set us up, we can be there by this evening."

"Consider it done." He flipped his cigarette onto the grass and looked at the two agents. "We think they're trying to turn Chuck to Fulcrum. They're using his grief and lack of situational awareness to their advantage. He'll eventually be made to think some Agency cabal murdered his wife. The agent they're using was a CIA deep-cover agent who got burn-noticed by the old administration and flipped to Fulcrum. We don't know who she was, just who she is supposed to be now. If she had surgery, hell, she could have been anyone."

"We learned that much from Townes before she died, agents. I hope the bitch burns in hell. Her husband is an Agent in Afghanistan, a good man. We have to arrange an 'accident' to explain her death or we'll lose him too. Be careful but hurry."

The two agents returned to their vehicle to make preparations for their trip to the Cayman Islands. One hoped to find her husband, the other a reason for senseless murder of Gwen.

Neither hope would be realized if the plans of Chuck's 'assigned agent' progressed as planned. Events were soon to unfold that would further complicate the search for the missing Chuck Bartowski and bring both agents into collision with their respective agencies.  


* * *

**Unknown location  
Caribbean Island Chain  
September 15 5pm local time**

Becky waited while the email downloaded and she munched on a take-out sandwich from the little Reef Deli. She had one of Chuck's favorites made to order and the boy delivered it, still hot from the oven.

Chuck limped into the living area and immediately smelled something that was straight from home. "Becky, what is that smell? Damn, it smells like one of the monster corn beef sandwiches I ate at Stanford. Am I imagining it?"

"Nope. But I guess I lucked out when I ordered it. There are not many places on this island that make food for take out. Mostly touristy places. So sit down, grab a beer and eat, Chuck. Your ribs are showing. Sorry, but I noticed in the shower. If we stay here very long, I'll get fat!" She laughed and drank her beer and took another monstrous bite of her sandwich.

"So, what's up with the computer?" He was momentarily carried back to Stanford and late night trips to Pazool's for a sandwich. Times were so much easier then. He hadn't been screwed over by Bryce and Jill still was his girlfriend. Well, at least the sandwich was good. The other memories sucked.

"I told you it was primitive down here. Waiting for the j-pegs to download. I don't have a printer so you'll have to read the dailies off the screen. Sorry."

"No problem. Man that is slow! I'm so spoiled with civilized high-speed."

"Yeah. It wasn't even this slow in Serbia."

"So, can you cook, Becky, or is take out our normal thing? And can we maybe walk to one of these places and actually sit down and eat like real people?"

"Take out until you're healthy and spry again. Then, sure, just don't get any ideas, buster. You have no way off the island. You're stuck here until Langley gives the green light. And you go nowhere without me, your friendly shadow. And I'll even wear underwear, Chuck, real underwear!" She watched his reaction.

"Well, don't sacrifice comfort for me."

He was such a guy. No wonder she loved him. Soon. Soon the need for play-acting would be past and she could tell him her plan and their future. But not now. For now, the game had to play out. When the attack came, and it would any day now, the final stone in the wall between Chuck Bartowski and the CIA/NSA Intelligence Combine would be set and the mortar would harden, as would his resolve.

"OK, Becky, let's get the dailies out of the way before we tackle the pics."

* * *

Two hours later Chuck had a blazing 'migraine-like' headache. Each of the many flashes made his brain feel like someone was taking sandpaper to it. His vision was blurring and he knew lunch, that delicious sandwich, was about to reappear.

"Becky, I really need those pills. Hurts." He didn't throw up. He passed out, falling back against the couch.

"Chuck!" She had been briefed on the effects of the drug she'd laced his sandwich with. She hadn't been prepared for the abruptness or form of the reaction. Moving him to his bed and hooking up the IV would be a task even if he had lost 35 pounds since July.

His IV contained psychotropic concoction to increase his susceptibility to suggestion, almost creating a hypnotic state as well as increasing the intensity and frequency of extreme dream states – shrink for 'nightmares'.

It was all part of the plan to enable Chuck to willingly, of his own free will, betray his country and join Fulcrum.

Becky adjusted the drip rate and then went to prepare the next phase of the conversion module. By this time tomorrow, Chuck's belief in the 'rightness of the cause' of the CIA and NSA would be in shambles, shattered by events too close to his own reality to ignore.

She returned to her bedroom, opened the armoire and pulled up the false bottom and removed a sat phone. She speed-dialed a number and waited. When it was answered she used the dial pad to key in a 9-digit number and hung up. The call back would be in exactly 37 minutes per established protocol. One minute or more either way meant the mission profile had changed and she was to immediately terminate her 'guest'.

She returned to the unconscious man and checked the drip rate and checked a chart in a small booklet she kept in her breast pocket. She decreased the drip rate per the chart and returned to await her next phone contact.

As the timer on the sat phone counted down to 0 and then to 1 the 2 then 3 she was ready to scream in rage. NO! Her plan would not be trashed by the lack of guts at the council level. Just then the phone rang, a sharp pitched 'bleep' sounding.

"This is Alice, may I take your order, please?"

"Yes, I need three deep dish pizzas, loaded, delivered to a Chicago address."

"Will you be paying by credit or debit card?"

"Oh, wait, let me call you back. I forgot my wallet. It's in the car."

Translation: 3 Fulcrum Agents would be arriving at her location; the scenario was a rape to intimidate a government employee on a convalescent vacation. They were unaware of her advance knowledge of her role in the event. She was authorized to eliminate the agents without prejudice and the additional payment she required was being transferred to their account in the Caymans.

*************************************************************

WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING

THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPHS CONTAIN GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF SEXUAL ASSAULT. DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE NOT OF LEGAL AGE TO DO SO OR IF YOUR SENSIBILITIES ARE EASILY OFFENDED.

**Unknown location  
Caribbean Island Chain  
September 16 1:00 am local time**

The three renegade CIA agents made their way quietly up onto the verandah of the seaside bungalow situated on the southern-most tip of Little Cayman. Their plan was straightforward. Break into the house through the French door, find the woman's room and sexually assault her as a warning to her boyfriend.

Becky had taken a tranquilizer to still her nerves. She knew what to expect but didn't want to tip her hand when the CIA agents attempted to rape her. At least she hoped 'attempted' was the operant word. When she last checked on Chuck he didn't appear to be coming out of the sedative. Well, 3-1 odds weren't insurmountable.

She was just walking through the living room to check on Chuck and make sure he hadn't knocked her pistol off the bed when the French doors to the verandah crashed open and the three men rushed in. She screamed loudly, hoping to rouse her sleeping 'savior' but to no avail. She screamed again, louder and ran into her bedroom and tried to slam the door shut but a strong body hit the door and it crashed open, knocking the breath from her and sending her reeling to her knees.

Chuck was pulled out a hazy near-sleep by Becky's first scream. He wasn't sure what he'd heard. His headache was gone but the memory of horrible dreams still haunted him. He heard her second scream and the smashing of the door and male voices, loud and crude. He reached down to remove the sheet and felt a pistol. She must have been asleep in the chair and left it there.

He lunged out of the bed ripping the IV out of his hand, tearing a gash along the vein. Pistol in hand, he staggered across the living room and down the hall to the smaller bedroom.

He could make out 3 men surrounding her on the bed. They'd ripped off her nightgown and one attacker restrained her arms by pulling them above her head and capturing her head and raised arms with the sheet and kneeling on it leaving his hands free to fondle and pinch her breasts.

Her screams were muffled but Chuck heard none of that. The roaring of his blood in his ears cancelled out any external sounds. One man was holding her legs while another was raping her. The man leaning on her sheet-covered arms and head was cruelly pinching and pulling at her nipples and biting.

Chuck shot the man who was in the act of violating her. He then shot the one holding the sheet down as he looked up in surprise. The man holding down her legs was nearest to Chuck and released them and spun around and launched a spinning kick aimed right for the surgical dressing on his thigh.

The heel struck exactly in the center of the wound sending a lightning bolt of pain up his leg to his brain and he almost passed out. He shot the man in the side and the bullet pierced both lungs.

The man he first shot was still alive and had pulled himself from Becky. As he rolled off the woman and onto the floor, Chuck shot him in the genitals, severing something he no longer needed.

Still feeling the effects of the rage boiling within himself, he limped over to the man that he'd shot through the lungs who was trying to crawl out the door. He put the pistol against his lower jaw and pulled the trigger, almost blowing off the man's face.

He then shot each of the men in the head. As the adrenalin levels in his bloodstream dissipated, the pain in his thigh bloomed as if a red-hot poker had been shoved into his leg. He had to see to his handler.

She was still under the sheets, waiting for Chuck to finish up 'saving' her from her attackers. Her nipples were hurting where they'd been bitten and the assault had left her nearly breathless. She shivered uncontrollably as she felt the palm of his hand running up over her leg to her breast and then grasping the sheet and ripping it off her.

She'd been surprised at the intimacy of his caress considering the circumstances but after he'd pulled back the sheet to 'free' her arms she saw that it wasn't a caress but that he couldn't see well in the dark.

Chuck had little or no night vision left after all the muzzle flashes. He couldn't hear Becky and he was terrified that she'd been killed during the rape so he ran his hand along her body until he found the sheets and jerked them off. "Becky? Becky, are you all right?"

She leaned up and pulled him down on top of her, 'hysterically' whispering over and over that he'd saved her, that she hurt 'down there' and that he'd saved her. She was squeezing him so hard that he'd found it hard to breathe.

"Hey, please, let go. You're choking me. Let's get a light on and let me see if they cut you or anything. They're all dead. I'm afraid I've messed up your room." The pain in his leg was so intense that he was on the verge of adding 'being vomited on' to the list of indignities she'd already suffered.

Chuck stepped over the second man he shot and turned on the bedside lamp.

He looked at the dead man and flashed. He was a CIA agent. He flashed on each of the other bodies – all CIA. "Becky, did you piss off the CIA? These guys are all CIA…" He'd killed 3 human beings like you'd put down rabid dogs. It was all too much for him and with the adrenalin boost gone and the throbbing pain in his hand and thigh, he passed out falling on the bed against her. His last thought was 'sometimes I am such a wuss. I don't know how Sarah put up with me as long as she did'.  


* * *

**Unknown location  
Caribbean Island Chain  
September 16 4:30 am local time**

He heard a voice softly calling his name, or perhaps simply repeating it over and over again. 'Chuck, Chuck…Chuck'. After listening to the repetitious sound over and over he decided it was a stupid sound, a stupid name. The sound faded away and so did he.

Pain. Throbbing pain in his leg. Someone was repeatedly hitting his leg with a hammer, alternating with digging something sharp into the surrounding flesh. He tried to speak but it was just too much trouble and besides he was afraid he'd make the hammerer aware and he'd step up his pounding and sticking. Had he missed one of the CIA agents? Was he being tortured? Where was Becky? Where was the damned cavalry when you needed them? And why was it so damned cold in the tropics?

Alice aka Becky pushed more gauze into the wound trying to staunch the flow of blood. If Chuck hadn't killed the idiot agent, she'd have killed him herself.

Orders specified no physical damage to the subject. The sutures had all torn loose from whatever had impacted the pseudo gunshot wound and it was profusely bleeding. There was a bag of A+ hanging from the IV stand but she swore there was more coming out than going in and she only had the two bags and she never dreamed she'd need them in the first place.

The beautifully-crafted plan was coming apart around her. She needed to get him proper medical treatment and there was no doctor on the island.

Operational protocol dictated that in the event 'conversion' proved impossible due either to resistance or circumstances, the intersect host was to be terminated. If Fulcrum couldn't have him, no one would.

But she loved the man more than anything and would give him a chance to live, if only until the next time she could get her claws into him. She spliced the 2ne bag of A+ blood into his IV, covered the shivering man with the sheet and left. She had 10 million reasons to have patience. What once was lost could always be found again.

A/N: Where in the world are they? hahaha


	25. Body Bags and Blood Bags and Normal

Flashback23

**Miami International Airport  
September 15 2pm**

John Casey was fiddling with a hand-held transponder device that would send and receive only on Chuck's imbedded transponder. He'd set it for 'constant' meaning it would flash the signal to the transponder every minute and would sound an alarm only if the transponder responded. He figured that the flight from DC to Miami covered the Eastern Seaboard and it was a good time to check for Chuck.

"Casey, what are you fiddling with? You boys and your toys. My God, you're as bad as… never mind, what is it?"

"It's a transponder that transmits to Chuck's imbedded tracker and picks up his signal. I figured we were covering a lot of space with the flight and just wanted to try and pick something up. Nothing."

She put her hand on his arm. "Thanks, John. No one else seems to give a rat's ass about him."

"He's my friend. Don't tell him that, but he is. Damned nerd grows on you. Gets under your skin like a chigger."

Their flight to the Cayman Islands was called. They were flying 1st Class from Miami to Grand Cayman to check out some banking irregularities and also to do some first-hand snooping. The banks were all multi-nationals and above reproach but there were no guarantees of the honesty of the local management.

"I can't believe how inexpensive this is. When Chuck gets back on his feet, we're coming here for a honeymoon. Alone, Casey, so don't roll your eyes. I will get him back. I made a vow, Casey. In a church. I will get him back." There were tears of desperation in her eyes.

Casey wanted him back, too. Then he was going to hunt down the bastards that killed Gwen and hurt them, a lot, for a long time.

Without thinking, Casey set the device to 'constant' and put it in his coat pocket, flipped back his seat and tried to sleep. His back was killing him and his muscles screamed at the abuse of sitting in one position for so long.

The flight on Cayman Airways was only 456 miles long and the Boeing 737 would make the flight in a little more than 90 minutes.

The pilot announced that they were 30 minutes from Grand Cayman and went on and on about the weather, the opportunities for vacation fun and the 'Little Sisters' islands of Little Cayman and Cayman Brac, the latter visible on the starboard side.

The transponder beeped. And beeped. Casey at first thought it was the aircraft but felt the twitch of the unit as it beeped and beeped.

"Sarah, Chuck's here, either on Cayman Brac or Little Cayman. The unit just beeped several times. We've found him, Sarah. He's alive and we're going to get him back!"

His words jolted her from a restless dozing. "What? Are you sure, Casey? Don't fuck around about this."

"It beeped when the pilot mentioned Cayman Brac and Little Cayman. He's here, Sarah. Fulcrum must have him in a hive someplace on the two smaller islands. Call Graham when we get on the ground. Have him rally all available agents to us here. We're going to get him back." Casey finally felt useful and he placed the memories and image of Gwen Rivers in a box in the back of his mind stamped 'later'.

**Grand Cayman Island  
Georgetown Marriott  
6:30pm**

They conferenced with Beckman and Graham via Casey's laptop. The conference was brief but positive. Fifteen agents would be flying in to Grand Cayman by the next evening and all were to report to Sarah and Casey for assignment. Sarah had purchased maps of the two islands explaining that she was a schoolteacher in the US and her students would benefit from her vacation.

The shop proprietor was so taken with her and her devotion to her students that he included the local maps and even a photo survey map that included private rental units and dockage on both the Sisters. The fact that her 3 blouse buttons were undone and that she wasn't wearing a bra had absolutely nothing to due with his excellent customer service.

Casey had checked on air transportation to Cayman Brac and Little Cayman. They were just waiting on the agents' arrivals to begin the rescue operation.  


* * *

**Grand Cayman Island  
Georgetown Marriott  
September 16 5:30 am**

The shrill ringing of her cell phone brought her to a reasonable state of awareness. Glancing at her travel alarm and noting the time she answered per protocols.

"Bartowski, secure."

"Shut up. Get note paper. Don't speak or I'll hang up. You have 15 seconds to secure writing implements and paper and then I will speak. Do not respond."

The voice was familiar, chillingly so. So aloof and professional. Cold and unemotional.

"Someone is slowly bleeding to death. He was injured preventing a rape and he saved my life. I owe him. He's on Little Cayman on the southeast tip in a seaside bungalow. Do not be too hard on him, Agent. He has no idea it's all a game. Hurry. He only has one bag of A+ remaining. He's only yours temporarily, Agent, so take good care of him for me. He was always mine, even before Larkin sent him the package."

The call ended with a click. She called Casey.

"Casey, secure."

"Casey, Chuck's dying! She called. Alice. I think it was her. He's on Little Cayman on the southeast tip in a bungalow. He's bleeding out and she's only got one bag of A+ left. She says she's leaving him and it's up to me. We need to get there now, Casey. I'm leaving in five. With or without you."

"See you in four."  


* * *

They drove to the airport in a rental that Sarah cursed for only having a top end of 80mph. She was so flustered that she'd almost hit a lorry head-on because she forgot to drive on the left.

The found a plane to rent but the rental agent wouldn't let them take it until Casey had been properly checked out in the aircraft. Sarah almost pulled her gun but Casey calmed her with a glance.

"I flew Porters before you were out of diapers. Give me the Dash-1 and then the settings and freqs for Edward Boddin Airfield on Little Cayman. Also, do you know if there's a hospital on the island?"

The girl decided to trust him with the Porter Pilatus. He knew the right lingo and something told her he was more competent than their regular pilot was. He looked and talked ex-military.

"No hospital, not a doctor. Cayman Brac has a small dispensary but no resident physician. If there's a medical emergency there is a trained nurse on duty at the dispensary."

"Please call her and ensure she has at least 4 units of A+. Our friend is staying along on Little Cayman and has been injured. We got a call from his…girlfriend."

It is 146km to Little Cayman and Sarah cried quietly the entire flight. Casey said nothing but kept looking at the time and the weather. There were thunderheads building and sudden storms were common in this part of the Caribbean. He didn't care. He'd get them to the airfield with time to spare even if he had to burn up the engine to do it.

Thirty minutes later Casey lined up on the grass and gravel field and extended full flaps. They'd flown through a squall and he hadn't lost a minute's time correcting his course after exiting the storm. He brought the plane down in an angel's kiss landing and taxied to the terminal. Terminal was a charitable description. It was a cinder block building about 20 feet square with a fire engine parked beside it in a lean-to affair. It looked more like a gasoline filling station from the 50s.

"Go ahead into the terminal and arrange ground transportation. See if the attendant knows where the bungalow is. It might save us some time. And find out where the dispensary is located in relation to the airport on Cayman Brac. We need all the time-savers we can muster, Sarah."

She was running into the building before the prop quit turning. Casey got out and ran the tie-downs and followed her into the building.

Five minutes later they were driving the attendant's personal vehicle, an old VW bus that had been around the world a few times, through the settlement of Blossom Village, population 170. There were several smaller groups of houses but Blossom Village was the 'capital city' of the island and the only acknowledged 'village' on the island.

The macadam road ran the entire way around the perimeter of the island. There were numerous feeder roads heading toward farmsteads in the interior but for the most part they'd left civilization behind when they left Blossom.

Sarah was pushing the old bus as hard as she could. They hadn't passed any buildings or cottages in the past mile and she could see the tip of the island ahead. Just as they were almost at the southeastern most part of the island, the land folded back and revealed a bungalow about 50 yards off the roadway. A jeep with rental tags was parked near the bungalow.

* * *

She stopped the bus almost at the stairway to the bungalow and started to get out when Casey grabbed her arm. "Think, Walker, think. A rental jeep parked far enough away not to be heard approaching and now us barging in like the cavalry. I know you're afraid for him but you won't do him any good if you're dead! Now, I'll go around the back and look for another entrance and you… Damn it, Sarah!"

She sprinted up the stairs, gun drawn and walked in through the French door that obviously had been forced open sometime earlier. She cleared the living room and kitchen and then headed down the hall to the bedroom following a scent she knew from the past - death. There were three dead bodies, all shot in the head and elsewhere. The bed had a dried pool of blood and a woman's torn clothing was strewn around the room. She noticed one of the men still had his pants down around his ankles and he was missing…ah, there it was. Good shot, Chuck.

She heard Casey call her with a rare urgency in his voice. She ran to the sound of his voice and entered the smaller bedroom. Her husband was lying on a hospital bed, unconscious. The room smelled of the coppery tang of fresh and dried blood. The blood bag the caller had mentioned was half full but the dressing on his left leg was saturated with fresh blood.

"There are restraints on the bed and he has bruises on his ankles and wrists. I don't think he was here voluntarily but he's not restrained now. Apparently 'Alice' figured he was too far gone to be much of a flight risk."

"No, she told me he saved her from rape and murder. There are 3 bodies in the other bedroom. Shot in the groin, body and head. He shot one guy's …he had his pants around his ankles and Chuck shot his…member off. It's on the floor. Be careful you don't step on it." She spoke in a monotone, never taking her eyes off her husband. He was alive and there was still hope.

Casey went and checked out the other room. Man, he really did shoot off the guy's…thing. He checked under the bed and in the closet and armoire but they were clean. Someone had wanted no breadcrumbs for them to follow.

He called Beckman when he saw the three ID's lying beside the bodies. All were CIA. Chuck must not know whom to trust. Beckman would know if a sanction had been issued.

"Beckman, secure."

"Casey, secure. Ma'am, we have him. He's in a bad way. Probable GSW and someone left him with a blood bag hanging and one already used up. There are 3 dead CIA agents here. Popped Bartowski-style. Our kidnapper called Sarah and told her to come get him since he saved her life."

The rest of the conversation revolved around extracting them to a secure location. Beckman promised to call Casey back in thirty minutes or less with info on the men he'd ID'd and with a new extraction schedule. She was going to go outside the NSA/CIA for assistance on this one.

Sarah held Chuck's hand against her cheek while putting pressure on the wound and let the tears come. Her agency, the CIA, had sent an extraction team and they'd gone rogue and tried to rape his captor and she figured that Chuck reacted badly and killed them but had been injured in the fight.

While on one hand she thanked her adversary for trying to save his life, she cursed her for endangering it in the first place. This Alice would be the number 1 target on a lot of lists very shortly. She owed Casey and Sarah for Gwen, the two NSA agents and for Chuck's current condition. She could do little else other than watch him breath and the bag slowly replace lost blood.

Casey noted the laptop on the coffee table in front of the couch and the pads and folders. He opened the top folder and saw 8X10 photographs of the two NSA agents, Gwen Rivers and Sarah Bartowski immediately after they'd been shot. Now he knew why Chuck would believe any story offered by 'Alice' or Rebecca Pearsall or whoever she really was. He thought his wife was dead. The picture certainly conveyed that idea.

"Here. This is what he had as reading material. Also some daily reports like he got at the Castle. There's a laptop here we have to take with us."

Sarah gasped as she saw the pictures and then almost stopped breathing when she saw her photo, lying on the porch of the bungalow in a pool of blood. The snipers must have taken them as proof of their mission just as the Air Commando traitor had said.

"Casey, he thought we were all dead. My God, he must have felt totally alone and crushed. The woman's cruelty seems to know no limits and she says he's _her's_? I'll kill her, Casey, I swear to God, I'm going to kill her."

Casey's phone trilled and it was Beckman. They were to return immediately to the airfield at Blossom Village and they'd be met by a contingent of US Marines from Gitmo who would have a complete medical team on board. They would fly to an aircraft carrier west of Cuba and transfer there. Future travel arrangements would be made as Chuck's condition stabilized. Three NSA agents would fly in with the Osprey and take over the on-site investigation.

"What about the dead CIA pukes?"

"Director Graham lists them as missing so they're probably Fulcrum recruits. Bartowski was probably set up to believe they were actually raping this traitor. I wonder if they knew how violent his response would be?"

"Well, this Alice bitch certainly knew from her experiences in Serbia. Any progress on learning her identity?"

"None. We'll have the Little Cayman bungalow swept and see if we can get some DNA match-ups. In the meantime, you are authorized to use any means necessary to protect him, John, from any source of harm."

"Well, let's get him home. We'll get him on his feet and back with his family. Security will be beefed up, of course, maybe relocation to a secure community and Witsec. We'll see. Good job, Major. Pass it along to Sarah with my best wishes."

"Sarah, come on, bring the blood bag and walk along with me. Be careful not to crimp the tubing. We're meeting a contingent of Marines at the airfield and they'll have medics on board. We're headed to an aircraft carrier and then on to DC when he's able. It's going to be all right, Sarah. We got him and we're taking him home."

Sarah couldn't speak, just looked at Chuck's face and held the bag of precious blood up so it could drip unrestricted into his arm. She'd seen how the mattress had been saturated with blood when Casey had picked him up and carried him out of the bedroom.

The twenty-minute drive to the airfield seemed to take two hours. She knew the Osprey from Gitmo was coming with help but she was scared to death that he'd bleed out before help could come. "John, I'm A positive. If the bag runs out, we'll run a direct transfusion. I don't know how to do it. Do you?"

"Yeah, but it won't be necessary. The Osprey has a full trauma package on board and I'm certain a doctor also. They're not that far away. Won't be more than 2 hours. He can hang on that long, Sarah. He's a lot tougher than he looks plus he's got you in his corner. Just keep the faith."

"Do you think he's drugged? He doesn't seem responsive at all?"

Casey knew that the amount of blood on the bed and in the other room meant that he was running low and that the brain shut itself down in self-protection. That was why his hands were so cold. "We have no way of knowing if he's drugged. They'll run tests on the carrier. Beckman says 3 NSA agents are on the Osprey and they'll be looking for anything that might give us a clue to Alice's true identity."

"Good. When he's back on his feet, you and I are going hunting. We owe it to a lot of people."

"Agreed. Now, raise his feet. Didn't they teach you basic first aid in CIA training?"  


* * *

**Edward Boddin Airfield  
Little Cayman  
11:30am local time**

The drone of the Osprey was a welcome sound to both agents since the blood pack had run it's course fifteen minutes earlier and Sarah was having a fit because they couldn't run a direct transfusion since they lacked another needle. Casey knew she could swear since she'd pitched the F-bomb on occasion, usually when her husband did something spectacularly stupid but he was treated to permutations and combinations in seven languages and she was just getting her second wind.

The rear clamshell doors swung open and a squad of Marines in combat gear ran out and established a perimeter around the Osprey and the VW bus. Two medics ran over with a stretcher and moved Chuck into the Osprey followed by Sarah. Casey briefed the 3 NSA agents and then followed her into the waiting aircraft. They were airborne within two minutes.

The entire pick-up process had taken less than 5 minutes.

The Osprey discharged its passengers 55 minutes later onto the deck of the helicopter carrier USS _Guadalcanal_.  


* * *

**USS _Guadalcanal_  
September 18 4am**

Sarah Walker Bartowski sat slumped beside the bed, her head on Chuck's shoulder. The surgeons had done their work well the previous day and now he was in a 'recovery mode' although it was in the bed he would occupy for the duration of his stay. Combat ships did not have waiting rooms or ICU or recovery rooms. That luxury was a civilian one. She had fallen asleep wondering if they'd ever have 'normal' like she'd discussed with her therapist.

Had she been awake she would have seen that he was also awake, staring at the mop of blonde hair draped across his arm and shoulder. This was a dream, he knew it. He was really asleep in a hospital bed at some unknown location waiting to wake up and face another day without her, reviewing intelligence briefs and listening to Graham and Beckman drone on about the fight against Fulcrum.

He closed his eyes and slept, not wishing to wake up – ever – and keep the dream alive, keep Sarah alive.  


* * *

**USS _Guadalcanal_  
September 18 9am**

Two hospital corpsmen came in and got Chuck up and out of bed. He was on his way to the Navy's version of physical therapy. They handed him a pair of crutches and helped him adjust them for his height and then showed him the 'promenade deck' and told him they'd be shadowing him but he was expected to make it to the stern of the ship for his 'reward'.

Chuck looked at the two men like they were aliens. "The stern of the ship? That's which way? And a reward? Like what, an amputation? Keel hauling? Jesus, guys, this is a little sudden."

They knew that he was a hush-hush patient brought in by Osprey and guarded by a squad of Marines, a scary Major and a hot blonde with a wedding ring on. How did _this_ poor excuse for a man ever get _that_?

"Chuck! Good to see you up and around. When you get done with your crutching around, the General would appreciate a few minutes of your valuable time."

"Casey! Y-You're dead! You're all dead. I saw the pictures. I was told it was the C…"

"Chuck, need to know. Gwen's dead. They just blew up the jeep and slammed me into a tree. They're all dead, by the way. Your wife saw to that."

Chuck was so shocked at Casey's sudden appearance and the confirmation of the little doctor's death that he missed the reference to Sarah. "Casey, I'm so sorry about Gwen. She would have made a great addition to the team. I know how you feel. It hurts all the time but I heard time makes it easier."

Casey was certain he had the two ship's corpsmen's attention so he pushed on, ignoring the momentary feelings for the dead Gwen.

"Man, I can't believe you shot that guy's pecker off! I almost stepped on it. And the other two? Headshots are so messy. Remind me to show you an easier way. Now, move along, Agent, the General has some questions. I'll see you in 40 minutes. And Chuck? Play nice with the swabbies. They don't know what you're capable of." He grinned and left, satisfied he'd at least partially restored his confidence. Those 2 squids would be a lot more respectful now.

The two corpsmen walked about 20 feet behind Chuck as he learned to navigate among all the obstacles on the deck. No closer. They knew from their dealings with SEALS that black ops people were…unpredictable.

The catwalk was made of steel grating and he could see the ocean below him. He spent time deftly maneuvering around drain holes and other openings in the decking and before he knew it, he was looking at the wake of the ship, his two shadows a respectful distance behind.

Two warm arms snaked around his shoulders from behind him and Sarah said softly, "I love you, Chuck. I'm not dead. I am alive. Please don't freak out, sweetheart, it's really me and you're not having a hallucination. You're on the _Guadalcanal_ and when you're stronger we're going home." She eased around to his front and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him softly, gently, with all the love she felt for him put into it. She didn't care who saw it.

She ended the kiss and stepped back, her hands on his heart. He was speechless.

"I'm not dead. Those pictures were taken right after we were shot. I just got nicked and a huge headache and stitches. I'm sorry you were hurt again. We thought it would be safe in the middle of Florida and a military reservation. But we're both here and now we have to get back to work. Let's go talk to the General and then we have a thousand questions for you, husband. About Alice or whoever she is."

He just grinned and half-turned to his shadows. "Take off, guys. I'm in better hands than ever."

"Chuck, you're stuttering, it's gone! That's incredible." She was shocked since it had been so bad just a few days ago.

He frowned. "You don't know, do you, Sarah? The CIA put something in my head that gave me horrible headaches and made me stutter when they operated on me. Whoever snatched me had it removed. See the stitches? It was a bomb, Sarah! The fucking CIA put a bomb in my head to kill me if someday I was useless or if captured."

"Who told you the CIA put it in and how do you know it was a bomb? Surely you don't believe Alice, do you? She called me in Grand Cayman and told me to 'come and get him' because you were dying but she owed you for stopping the rape. She was Fulcrum! So were the three CIA agents."

"Sarah, let's get the debriefing over with then I want to spend time just looking at you, OK? I thought I'd never see you again and I can't get the image of you lying in a pool of blood out of my mind. OK?"

"That's sweet. Yeah, let's go. Take it slow. She'll wait. And take your time explaining things to her and if you get tired, say so. You were at death's door on that island. I was never so scared in my life as when that bitch called and said you were bleeding out but she owed you and I 'could come and get you'."

"I can't believe she is Fulcrum. I can't understand why I couldn't flash on her in the intersect." He was getting damned tired of all the drama. He wanted to get back to Burbank and fight over the remote and order take-out and drink beer and sleep in on Sunday mornings and just be normal again.

* * *

The video conference was in a secure part of CIC and in a secured office. Both Graham and Beckman were in attendance but Beckman clearly ran the show now.

"Chuck, it's good to see you alive again. We haven't spoken since before your operation. How are you doing?" She leaned forward in anticipation of a Bartowski special. Instead she saw a frowning Bartowski.

"General, I talked with you and Director Graham the other morning and the day before that. The connection sucked and the images took forever to download so we went to audio only. Don't you remember? Or did I imagine that, too?"

"The laptop computer found in the bungalow where you were held contained a voice recognition program as well as files of voice recordings of Arthur and I. Someone was manipulating you and using us to do it. I couldn't believe the things I said and I apologize if I offended you. It wasn't us, Chuck. Fulcrum was running a very sophisticated op against you. You were probably drugged to the gills and subjected to some very sophisticated manipulation. We'll have more information when the NSA agents on-site complete their investigation."

"For right now, though, we need to know what you remember from the time you were extracted until now. Take you time and be thorough."

"Well, I woke up strapped to a hospital bed in what I thought was a hospital room but later found was just a room in the bungalow. Agent Piersall, Rebecca Piersall, told me I'd been restrained because I was convulsing. I had been catheterized so I assumed I'd been there a while. I was released for the restraints but kept on an IV because of a gunshot wound to the thigh."

"Chuck, it was no gunshot wound. It was deliberately done with a scalpel by a surgeon. They cut a plug of flesh and muscle out of you, Chuck. The Navy surgeon confirmed it. It was to make you think you'd been shot and 'saved' by this 'Alice'. By the way, Sarah has discovered that Agent Piersall is dead. She was taller and was African American. 'Alice' took her place. Sarah can tell you more after the briefing. She was ruthless in tracking you down, Chuck."

"Well, I think I slept a day or two, maybe more. There were always IV's in me until one day she came in and told me it was time to get to work. That's when we had the videoconference that converted to audio only. That's also when I saw the pictures of the dead team." He stopped talking and looked down at his hands that were trembling in his lap. He hated being so damned emotional, especially in front of Beckman and Casey.

Sarah saw his trembling hands and snaked a hand into his under the table where no one but Casey could see it.

"I ran dailies for them for a day, maybe two, then I had a seizure or something and I woke up back in the hospital bed to hear her screaming and I ran to her room with a gun she'd apparently left for me. There were 3 attackers. I killed them. She'd been assaulted by one and mauled by another. The third guy was waiting his turn, holding her down."

He looked at his wife and sadly smiled. "I'm sorry. I couldn't let them do to her what was done to you if I could have stopped it and I did.

Sarah couldn't have loved her husband more than she did at that moment. She just squeezed his hand and nodded, never taking her eyes off the screen but she knew he understood.

"But I screwed up and the third guy nailed me with a side kick right in the middle of the surgical dressing on my thigh. I don't know if he aimed at it or it was just dumb luck but I went down and shot him as I fell. The I went over to the guy crawling across the floor and I shot him and then I shot the guy screaming on the floor holding his…crotch."

"There was no light, just what came in through the French doors and I couldn't see much due to night blindness from the muzzle flashes. I checked the bodies and popped each one more time in the head like I was told and pulled their ID's. They were all CIA. I figured you guys sent an extraction team in to get Agent Piersall and me but they went rogue or something. Anyway, I don't remember much after that except fleeting images I'm not sure are real until I woke up this morning and saw Sarah, or dreamed I saw her, I don't know which."

"That's about it." He looked down at his still-trembling hands and sighed. Sarah knew that sigh. He was reconciling something to himself, making judgments and building the walls again.

General Beckman knew immediately what he was thinking and was determined to squash it in the bud. Not nip it, squash it.

"Mr. Bartowski, there was never an extraction team deployed to 'remove' you. We are more than satisfied with the progress you've made and will make under the tutelage of your current team. Those men were Fulcrum, pure and simple. And it was probably a ploy to bring you into the fold by making you suspect the very agencies that are entrusted with your safety. Can you understand that?"

"Sure, General, whatever you say. I have no reason to doubt anything you or Director Graham might say, do I?"

There was a full minute of silence then Arthur Graham spoke for the first time. "Mr. – Chuck, no one at the CIA authorized anything to imperil your safety or the well being of your team. If we wanted to 'sequester' you, we would but it would be your wife and her partner who'd bring you in to a secure facility. And by that I don't mean a hole in the ground but rather a community in a remote area that was established for agents and their families as a place to 'hide out' or recover. What good would be served by sticking you in the ground?"

"Security of the intersect data, Director, you know that. You also know that I fully expect that to happen some day, just like it did to my Dad, so why maintain the pretense?"

The General just sighed and the Director looked ready to stroke out. "Damn it, Bartowski, what will it take to make you realize that your wife would kill anyone who tried it and Major Casey would back her up? You are the most aggravating human being I've ever met. Just what the hell do you want?"

"I want normal, you pompous son of a bitch. I want to have what the Constitution guarantees. I want life, liberty and be able to pursue happiness not for the greater good but for my family and me. YOU have normal. SHE has normal. I want what you have. Is that so hard to believe or understand?"

Beckman took charge again. Quietly she broke the tension. "No, Chuck, it's not too much to ask. Here's what I propose. After a brief convalescence in a remote and secure location accompanied by your wife, you and your team will join a WitSec community and you'll continue your training and keep your team together. Your sister can communicate with you through a third party here at NSA but eventually you'll be able to reintegrate yourself and your family back into 'normal' society. I can't give you a time frame but I can give you the word of the Director of the NSA and her successors."

Sarah leaned over and whispered, "Normal is all I want, Chuck, you and me and normal. Take the deal and let's get out of this place and spend some quality time together. Quiet quality time."

He looked over at Casey and saw him nod. He sighed, not in resignation but in accomplishment. From the very outset, even before he fell in love with his wife, all he ever wanted was to be free to pursue life as it developed. And now he had it.

"Deal. With one reservation."

Sarah squeezed his hand until he thought his fingers would go numb. He could hear her breathing deepen in preparation for some outrageous response on his part.

"I want Agency status. I don't want to be just a damned asset. I want to be trained. I won't have anyone risking their lives again because I can't cut it. No more dead NSA agents, no more dead Gwen Rivers. And I want free rein on pursuing this Alice bitch. I won't live wondering if she's lurking somewhere just around the corner. That's what I want."

Graham and Beckman leaned over and discussed it sotto voce but it was obvious that the argument had nothing to do with him but which agency would get the prize bull.

"Done. Now, get yourself healthy and we'll see you in DC. You'll get what you want. It's a reasonable request, one that should be expedited."  


* * *

**Bear Island  
Strait of Juan de Fuca  
November 2 11pm**

Chuck pulled the love seat over closer to the fire. The weather was abysmal, always damp and almost always raining. Considering he was a sunny California boy one would figure he was miserable but he wasn't. He was happy.

He threw two more logs on the fire and opened another beer. Sarah was in Washington for a hush-hush briefing and he'd spent most of the day walking around the many paths of the 37-acre island. He and his security detail were the only inhabitants. The island sat on the Vancouver side of the Strait but still within the disputed boundary area and was a sort of no-man's land with both sides claiming it but neither occupying it although the intelligence communities of both nations were well aware that the NSA maintained a presence. No one wanted a repeat of the Pig War.

Splitting his time between rehab and just getting back into the groove of the intersect, he'd had a fairly decent month. His wife was still treating him like he was made of glass and he couldn't help but notice that getting back to 'normal' wasn't happening for her.

Her sleep was restless and although she never discussed any dreams, he knew she had them. He did, too. Dreams of her being shot, of killing those three men, but never had he awakened her from her exhausted sleep. He'd just pulled her a little closer and would enjoy the warmth of her body and the knowledge that better times were ahead. They were working and living together and life was pretty good, all things considered. But he knew he was being selfish. His life was better. Hers wasn't. She still didn't have the 'normal' she so craved.

He dozed off lying on the love seat lulled by the flickering flames and pulsating warmth of the fire when his phone rang.

"Bartowski, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. Chuck, it's me. I'm sorry. This isn't working out the way I thought it would. I'm not cut out to be a wife and a spy. I have to choose and I'm sorry, Chuck, but I won't be coming back. The Agency lawyers will present you with annulment papers and I'll go back to being what I'm good at and you…you can do anything you want, Chuck. The world's yours for the taking."

"Sarah, you can't mean that. Please, we can work this out, please, don't do this to us."

"Good bye, Chuck. I'm sorry."

He fell off the love seat. Just a dream, but Jesus, what a dream. He'd had several in the past month, almost always the same. She was leaving him for the damned agency and her precious career. Is that why she was so unsatisfied and unhappy?

They'd promised to talk out their problems and try to eliminate the communications barriers that existed and continued to exist in their marriage. The both knew that there were still elephants in the room and they'd promised each other to bring them out of the dark and into the light and discuss them. Neither had any illusions about eliminating all their problems but by talking about them honestly they could at least understand the other's view point.

His phone rang again and he almost didn't answer it.

"Bartowski, secure."

"Bartowski, secure. Hi, baby, I'll be home tomorrow afternoon. I'm finally done with all this damned reclassification crap and I'm so looking forward to getting back home to you and just being normal for a while."

"Um, Sarah, can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer it but just think about it, OK? We can talk about it when you get back here."

"Sounds serious, Chuck. Is anything wrong? Are you having dizzy spells again? Headaches? What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Nothing physical. I just need to know…are you happy, Sarah?"

"Not at this very moment, no, I'm not happy. I've been away from you for 4 nights and 5 days and I'm miserable. I don't like this reclassification crap. I told you. All these psych evals are just so much bullshit. But no, at this very moment in time, Chuck, I'm not happy, I'm horny and I miss you, sweetie. Ask me when come through the door and drag you to our bed. Then ask me if I'm happy."

"Then I'll ask you after you get home. See ya tomorrow afternoon. Maybe they'll let you fly the seaplane. Just wear that pale blue top and no bra…they'll let you do anything you want." It was a running joke between them. She'd once gotten dressed in a hurry for a teleconference with Graham and well…he seemed distracted. Chuck told her why later and she couldn't look Graham in the eye for a couple of weeks.  


* * *

_**A/N: one maybe two chapters remaining. Interest seems to be flagging and I can close this sucker out anytime and just leave the participles dangling.**_

_**APR**_


	26. Fumbling Towards Normal

Flashback24

**Bear Island  
Strait of Juan de Fuca  
November 3 3:30pm**

The red Cessna 150J floatplane eased onto the water about 200 yards from the shore and the floating dock. The water was mildly choppy and the wind was gusting to 20mph. One of the NSA security staff was vetting the arriving aircraft with the usual sign/countersign and flashed a light to his partner hidden onshore behind a Barrett 50cal. Sniper rifle.

The pilot cut the single engine and then stepped out on the float to catch the line thrown by the handler. Sarah stepped onto the float behind the pilot and jumped to the floating dock, flashed a 1000-candle power smile and ran up the path dragging her wheeled suitcase behind her.

The sniper stepped out from his blind and nodded to her but also held a 9mm and went through the sign/countersign authorization even though he'd known Sarah for years. Another mark of the degree of professionalism these security people maintained.

She passed through a gate in the chain-link fence and then walked down a paved pathway to the small cottage that was carefully concealed from view. She felt a strange sense of coming home even though it was not their home nor did either of them want it to be, but 'home' was wherever he was. It didn't matter to her one damned bit.

Pulling her Pea Coat tightly around her as a gust of wind blew the drizzling rain almost parallel to the ground, she dragged her suitcase up onto the covered porch and used her passkey to open the electronic lock.

The fire had warmed the living room and she threw her pea coat onto the love seat and went in search of the fabled 'missing Chuck'. He wasn't in the kitchenette nor was he in the bathroom. That left only the bedroom. Grinning at the prospects of waking a sleeping Chuck she started undoing the buttons of her blouse in preparation for the bone-jumping that was shortly to commence but to her disappointment – no Chuck.

Stripping off her clothes and promising herself that she'd hang them up properly later, she opened the closet and took out her robe and the furry slippers Chuck always teased her about. Checking out the refrigerator and grabbing a beer for her and one for him when he finally made an appearance, she scootched down on the love seat and tucked her feet under her and waited, unconsciously mimicking her husband's position of the night before.

Chuck was finishing his first-ever complete jog around the entire island perimeter on the jogging path. He'd never been able to do it before but he'd set a goal and now he'd bettered the targets set by Sarah and his physical therapist. Seeing the cottage ahead, he felt buoyed with the prospects of his wife's arrival later that evening and he sprinted the final 50 yards and slipped his keycard into the lock and walked briskly into the cottage, failing to note Sarah on the couch.

Raising an arm and sniffing he decided that 'manly' might be fine for him when he was alone but with the prospects of a hot blonde arriving, he felt duty-bound to shower. And shave. He hadn't been intimate with a razor since she left. There was no point. Other than the security detail he was the only inhabitant on the island until she came home.

Having adjusted quickly to bachelorhood again, he took off his clothes a piece at a time leaving a trail of sweat socks, shorts, t-shirt, sweatshirt and rain slicker leading to the shower.

He'd just shaved and was washing his hair when he felt the air pressure in the room change as someone opened the bathroom door. He reached up on the ledge above the shower and took down a .22 magnum derringer that he'd taken from the armory. He was learning, slowly, painfully, but he was learning.

He pointed the derringer straight-armed at the heavily frosted shower door and as it slid open he thrust the weapon up under the jaw line of…Sarah!

"Oh, shit! I'm sorry, babe. You surprised me, that's all. Sorry. That's going to bruise. Does it hurt?"

"Shut the hell up and kiss me, Chuck. I've been waiting for you for almost an hour. Sometimes I miss my couch potato although this new version is looking really good." She ran her hands over his chest and down over his slowly-at-long-last-developing six-pack and lower still.

He put the pistol back on the ledge and pulled her into the warm shower and as close to him as possible. He ran his lips over the red mark where he'd jammed the derringer and then down her neck until he reached the hollow formed by her neck and shoulders. She shuddered and attacked his ear with her lips and tongue. She couldn't believe how much this man affected her. Talk about incredible surprises. The first time they'd made love, she found out the hard way that Bartowski did not merely have sex, and it had left her shaking and unbelievably desiring more…no, needing more.

Nothing had changed. She still needed him with the same urgent intensity she'd felt that night in Burbank when she'd proposed. Even now it was just like the first time.

"Chuck, you're clean enough. Bedroom, now. We'll worry about changing the wet sheets later. I need you now and it's been so long, Chuck."

"Sarah, unless I've been in a coma, it's only been five days." He wondered for the zillionth time how she could ever have fallen in love with him. He'd worked at her barriers, her walls, her time-tested defenses, and in a short time they'd all crumbled and he had absolutely no idea how he'd done it.

A long time later, Chuck was on his stomach and she was sprawled across his shoulders writing obscene limericks with her fingernail on his ass laughing when he'd flex because it tickled. She was fast becoming a perverted and wanton woman. And she loved every second of it.

"Chuck, when I called you asked me something and I answered but I don't think I answered the question you were really asking me. So, big boy, let's find out what you really want to know."

Almost asleep but listening to what she said, he sighed. Women. Everything at their pace and in their own good time.

"Hey, what was that for? You said we'd talk, so here we are, talking. Well, I'm talking you're trying to do anything but."

"OK, it's like this. I'm extremely happy with my life. Probably never been happier. But, here's the thing. I don't think you are. You don't sleep well, Sarah, and you have dreams that wake you but then you say you don't."

He continued. "I wake up after my usual 'theme dream', find you and just move closer and go right back to sleep. You, I don't know about. You wake up, sit up, sigh a lot, look at me and sigh some more and then most times you get up and go…exercise or something. You rarely go back to sleep. I thought we agreed to talk about things?"

She sighed and then giggled which morphed into a chuckle and then a full laugh. She kissed the back of his neck and then snuggled down beside him pulling his arm over her and then dragging the dry part of the comforter over them. It was a sign of progress, according to her therapist/mother-in-law, that she could match her husband in finding humor in the most stressful of times.

"I dream about the assault, the rape, the attack, whatever you want to call it and I wake up afraid you're bloody and begging me not to kill you because you love me. Every time, dearest heart, every time I wake up and dread looking. I spent some time with your mom in DC, as a therapist not a mother-in-law, and she said there were still some 'issues' but that we could explore them together."

"I thought as much, Sarah. You should wake me. Talk to me, let me talk to you, let you know that it was just a horrible dream. Maybe it would have been better if we'd finished, in Belgrade, finished what I'd started. We can still go back, add them to the 'Alice' list. Get you closure, a resolution."

"No. I don't need that. I have all I need right here. Maybe down the road when you're totally trained and competent. You were so lucky in Belgrade. And the crap you pulled in Vancouver, Chuck, if I'd been here I'd have so kicked your ass for going in and popping that guy. What the hell was Casey thinking to let you go in there alone?"

She felt his entire body tense and then slowly relax as if he'd made a conscious decision to avoid a confrontation. She knew the minute she'd opened her big, fat mouth about Vancouver that he'd get defensive but she was pleased he hadn't.

He spoke quietly, almost into the pillow and as if to himself. "But you weren't there, Sarah, you were busy telling a therapist that you wanted an annulment, that you'd do almost anything to get back into field work. Gwen got daily transcripts. I didn't read them all, didn't want to know how far you'd go to get away from me. I realize it was your way of distancing yourself from me, to keep me alive and safe but eventually it all worked out. Just like this will."

There was no rancor, no recrimination, in his voice, just a straight recitation of the facts, clinical and sanitized. How easily he'd gotten over his fear of her killing him. How easily he'd sloughed off the images of her slashing his throat to finish him off after she'd almost killed him with blows to the ribs and temple. She shuddered remembering her call to Casey, the hospital, and Ellie and finally the long trip to DC and Langley.

He rolled over on his side and pulled her closer and whispered, "That was then; this is now. You _will_ wake me from now on, Sarah Bartowski; you will wake me and talk about your dreams. I don't ask much of you, but I'm fucking _demanding_ this. It's what normal people do and we're fumbling our way toward normal. OK?"

Finding his ear with her lips she murmured, 'Yes,' ran her tongue around the edge of his ear, sucking the lobe between her lips just after whispering, 'I love you too, Chuck,' and falling asleep.  


* * *

A/N: Just cleaning up some remaining issues before driving on to Phase 2: Revenge of Alice. [Insert demonic laughter] Yech – Charrah – gag – spew; can't write it worth crap.

Armor-Plated-Rat


	27. Two Steps Forward Three Back

Flashback25a

**_She moved so well 'cause she was a dancer,  
She went sliding through my questions,  
gliding 'round the answer.  
Harry Chapin - __Could You Put Your Light On Please  
_**

* * *

**Bear Island Strait of Juan de Fuca  
November 4 3:00am**

Chuck woke at 2am and promised himself that he would watch his wife sleep and at the first hint of a dream he'd wake her up in such a way as to seem accidental. At 2:30 he'd heard her whimper and he'd rolled over facing her and slipped closer to her, wrapping her in his arms and 'mumbling' "I love you, Sarah" and feeling her sigh and fall back into a dreamless sleep.

Satisfied that they'd avoided the worst nightmare, he fell asleep, promising himself to do this nightly until she either came to terms with her demons or turned and awakened him to talk about her dream.

At breakfast, the queen of spies noticed his eyes and weariness and swooped in for the kill. "Chuck, you stayed awake all night, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't. I just woke up around 2 and couldn't get back to sleep for a while. I didn't mean to wake you, Sarah. Sorry."

"You didn't. I slept pretty well. But I'm curious about something. How did you overcome your 'fear' of me that you had in Belgrade so quickly? Maybe it'll help me."

"I didn't overcome anything, Sarah. I just decided that I was going to have absolute trust in you and it soon ceased to be a problem. I trust you in all things, Sarah. It's that simple."

She went over and sat in his lap and kissed him then stared into his eyes. "Chuck, it's not that simple. It can't be. Now, please, tell me."

"Sarah, I just did. I trust you to love me and not hurt me. It works. The problem is, you don't trust yourself. You should. What happened that night in Burbank was a fluke, nothing more. You love me, right?"

"Yes. You know that. Where's this going, Chuck?"

"Would you deliberately cause me harm? Hit me? Try to kill me?"

"No! Of course not."

"Then trust yourself to feel the same in your dream state. I do. And it works."

"I don't have that kind of faith, Chuck. I keep seeing you lying there, gasping for breath and me getting ready to slash your throat. I see it most nights and it scares me."

"Then open your eyes and see what is, not what you imagine. You'd never hurt me, Sarah, believe it. I do."

The rest of the day was spent on conditioning, burning dinner and laughing at an old sci-fi movie.

Their love making that night was slow and gentle and satisfying. They both fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

**Nov 5 4:00am**

She sat up in bed, the covers falling away from her, as did her night terror. The cooler air in the bedroom attacked her sweaty skin and caused her to shiver uncontrollably.

_All I have to do is turn my head to the right, just turn my head, and I'll see that he's OK, that he's sleeping, that he's not bleeding, that his face is not contorted in terror. All I have to do is turn my head. I can't. I can't look at him bloody and battered, the look of fear and betrayal in his eyes, a pledge of love on his bloody lips. I just can't do it._

Quietly, she eased out of the bed, careful not to allow the blankets to shift and chill her sleeping husband and wake him. Pulling on her robe and slippers she slipped out of the bedroom and walked into the kitchen and started making coffee.

_I've broken my promise to him but I just can't face him, not when I know that I'm still quite capable of completing what I unknowingly began months ago. Almost every night I have the dream. Every day I pray to God that tonight will be the night the terror stops and every morning I curse Him because He said 'No'._

Chuck waited a few minutes before getting out of bed and pulling on a pair of sleep pants. The floor was like ice and if he was groggy from sleep he was certainly awake now. He knew it would be hard for her to take the step and wake him. He just didn't know that it would be impossible. He was bitterly disappointed but wasn't going to show it. She needed support not criticism.

He walked up behind her and put his arms around her and started talking softly to her that he knew it was hard but once she did it, once she faced her fear, it would lose its hold on her and she could begin to trust herself again.

"You had the dream tonight and it was a bad one, wasn't it?"

She turned around within his arms so that her face was against his chest and he couldn't see her face or her tears. But he could feel them against his naked chest.

"I think maybe, Sarah, that I've become the trigger. Or maybe it's the love making before you sleep. We've been going at it like, well, newly weds, and maybe that's triggering the dreams. I'm grasping for straws here, babe, so feel free to jump in and contribute." He tried to make his comment a little less accusatory by lightening it up.

She just pulled herself closer to him, almost desperately. He was dreading the obvious solution but someone had to discuss it, bring it up and maybe give it a try.

"It only happens when we're sleeping in the same bed together, right?"

She nodded her head, sniffling and desperately wishing he'd avoid the obvious.

"And the dream, it's worse after we make love, right?"

She nodded again. She knew where this was headed and she really didn't want to go there. She pushed herself away from him and looked up at him with tear-filled eyes.

"And while I was in the Caymans, you didn't have the dream once, did you?" He already knew the answer but he wanted to frame it so that his suggestion might not seem so destructive.

"Please, Chuck, please, just give me some time. I'm not as mentally strong as you, not as willing to trust myself. Just give me some time, sweetheart, please."

"Sarah, why don't you call my…um, your therapist and talk about this? It's early in DC but not that early. I'll just take a run around the island and give you some privacy." He turned away and walked to the bedroom to change into his running clothes.

"That's not the damned solution and you damned well know it, Chuck Bartowski. It's just postponing the critical moment. It's because I'm a damned emotional coward. I told you, Chuck, I warned you, I suck at relationships. I've ruined everything we had, Chuck, haven't I? I made a promise to you and I didn't keep it. It's all ruined because I couldn't turn my head to the right. Something so simple and I couldn't do it."

"Why not, Sarah? Why couldn't you do it?"

She screamed at him. "Because I'm terrified I'll see you bloody and dying or dead, that's why. Because I'm going to kill you, Chuck, some night when I'm stressed and triggered, I'll kill you. That's what you wanted to hear, wasn't it? I'm going to kill you, my husband." She fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands sobbing uncontrollably.

Chuck went and found her cell phone, scrolled through her numbers and found the one number he could never imagine him ever having reason to call.

"Foster, secure. Hello, Sarah. A little early to be calling, isn't it? Everything all right out there?"

"Bartowski, secure. Dr. Foster, um, Mom, I, that is, we, Sarah needs your help."

Chuck spent 30 minutes on the phone with his mother. It was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done – calling the one person in the whole world he could never bring himself to forgive. He made himself a promise – fix this and I'll forgive you. He didn't verbalize it, he simply made it and moved on, secure in the knowledge that he'd keep his word to someone who had abandoned her family and created a self-fulfilling prophecy of a shattered family.

She promised to be on the next possible flight out as soon as she got the necessary clearances from the Powers That Be. She then asked Chuck to give Sarah the phone and leave the room or if possible, the cottage.

"Sarah, baby, it's Dr. Foster, Sarah. Please, quit crying and talk to her. I've asked her to come out here and help us. I don't know what else to do. You're too precious to me to just give up. I won't give up on you, I took vows, remember? Here, please talk to her."

Sarah's keening wail was killing him. He couldn't do anything to alleviate her pain – he was her pain. He had become her trigger to horrible nightmares. Intellectually, he knew that leaving would only mask the problem but emotionally, he was the cause of her pain and fear. It was her problem but it was his to solve. He loved her and it would be a small price to pay – giving her space and time.

He went into the bedroom and pulled on his running clothes. When he came out, Sarah was curled up on the loveseat talking on the phone, trying to stop crying. He touched her shoulder and smiled and left to begin his run. He stopped and shook his head at the irony of it all. He was running away from a problem because his wife's shrink told him to.  


* * *

Dr. Phyllis Foster talked to her daughter-in-law for almost an hour. Her son's call had astonished her. The action he'd taken the previous evening, simply demanding that his wife wake him and discuss the dreams was classic textbook therapy. The fact that Sarah could not was sad but the explanation she'd apparently screamed at her husband was appalling. She was correct, however, in that separating for the 'night' was a band aid not a solution.

"Sarah, I've gotten permission to visit the Island. I'll be there around 6 this evening. Is there any place I can stay that won't be in the cottage? Are there any 'guest facilities'?"

"I don't know. I'll find out. This is the only building I've seen on the island but there could be more. Chuck's the one running through the woods on the running paths, maybe he'll know. If not I'll just ask one of the guards."

"We'll figure something out. I just don't want to inflict myself on my son… God, it's so strange to say 'my son'. Sarah, has he…said anything about me? Eleanor refuses to discuss your bother's activities over the phone. Diane's kept me in the loop regarding the recent…events."

"Dr. Foster, he's never, ever, mentioned you since we left Langley except when the discussion came up about Thanksgiving and he just walked out of the room. So I suppose the answer's 'No'. The only time he mentions you is in your capacity as my therapist, nothing more, until…this morning."

She heard a sigh over the phone. "Then I'll see you this evening. Go take a nice hot bath and then try and sleep. Leave a note so he doesn't wake you. You'll need your rest."

* * *

Chuck circled the island running at a blistering pace for him. The guards knew something was amiss but since it didn't impact the physical security of the asset, it was ignored. He got back to the cottage but couldn't go in. He didn't want a confrontation and that's what would happen if he went back now. He'd given a lot of thought to the situation and had run innumerable scenarios but only one thing seemed to work – separation – both physical and emotional.

He started a second circuit of the small island, jogging this time, while he tried convincing himself that there was another option available but he couldn't. Sarah had asked her original therapist for an annulment and in his dream she'd called saying she was 'giving' him an annulment.

No. No annulment. That would only solve the immediate problem of removing the trigger from her environment. If he was the trigger they were screwed. He didn't think modern science had figured out a way to remove such a deep-seated fear. Yep, they were so screwed.

Dr. Foster called and told him she was coming out for an extended stay and inquired about housing. "Dr. Foster, do you see the need for me to participate in any of the dealings you're going to have with my wi…your…patient's therapy sessions?"

"I don't know at this point. Why?"

"Because I think I need to move out and maybe crash with the guards, at least for tonight. You could have the second bedroom and be there if she needed you."

"And where would you be after tonight?"

"You told me she needed time so I'm giving it to her. If I'm her trigger, then the simplest solution in the short term is to remove myself. I'll call Beckman and arrange for an extended training program wherever NSA trains its agents. I can get in a new download and you'll have access to her without me around. Do you have a problem with that, Dr. Foster?"

She sighed and Chuck recognized it as a sigh of resignation. "No, Charles, I don't have a problem with it as long as you're not using this as an excuse to punish her for something by removing yourself from her presence."

"You think I want this? You think that knowing my wife believes it's only a matter of time before she finishes off what she started in Burbank isn't punishment – for me? You think I don't want to just hold her and rock her and tell her it was just a dream and that I know she'd never hurt me?"

"No, Charles, of course not. It's just that with this type of psychosis, getting to the root of it may take more time than you're willing to invest. Are you willing to stay away from her in order to see her cured?"

"Yes. She's my life, my only reason for continuing to play the government's game. If she's safe and healthy, I'll settle for that. I'm getting quite adept at handling loneliness. It builds character, isn't that what they say?" He said he'd see her at the dock when she flew in and terminated the call.

* * *

He called John Casey. "Casey, what are you up to? How's the back?"

"Bartowski, what do you really want? Don't tell me there's trouble in paradise?"

"Yeah, John. She's still having those dreams and she's going to make herself sick. Turns out Fate got me after all. I'm the trigger, John. Me. So her therapist is on her way out here and I've got to find alternative digs. Up for a roommate?"

"No. Absolutely not, Chuck. You can't abandon her when she needs you. I never figured you'd run away from a problem."

"It was her therapist's idea. So, think Beckman would let me slide into a training class? I promise not to mess with her mind."

"Don't know. Why not call her and ask. I'm sure she'd just love to know you were volunteering for torture. Paybacks, Chuck." He laughed at the idea of Chuck in NSA training but knew it was probably for the better. He did need to be able to handle himself if his team was down, like Florida.

"Thanks for everything, John. I'd have been dead a few times if it hadn't been for you. Check on Sarah for me occasionally. Make sure she hasn't killed my mother. And take care of yourself, too, old man. You're not getting any younger."

* * *

The call to Beckman was much easier. She'd ordered a NSA jet to take Dr. Foster to Seattle where the floatplane would take her out to the island and Chuck could fly back to NSA Headquarters on the return flight. She'd have him met by an NSA team and escorted to headquarters. She set up an appointment for the following day to go over plans.

"Are you absolutely certain this is what you want? We'll run you through the compressed course since there's no reason for you to be trained in cryptography or other specialties. You carry your specialty around in your head. Have you discussed this aspect with Sarah and Natalie?"

"Dr. Foster knows. It was her idea. She said it would take time and that I needed to consider the time as an investment. I haven't spoken with my wife yet. I'm certain she'll object but it's not up to us any longer. I just want her happy and healthy. Removing the trigger and the triggering situation should ease her therapy. We'll have to see. I'm…hopeful. At this point it's all I can be."

"Fine. Pack lightly. You won't need a lot of civilian gear. Not for the next 6 weeks anyway. I'll get Natalie to keep me in the loop and provide you with periodic updates. We'll discuss more tomorrow."

He walked back to the cottage, suddenly uncertain about his actions. Would she interpret this as a punishment, as a penalty for not being able to purge herself of the memories of her assault? For not being strong enough to 'turn her head'? He dreaded this goodbye. It might be the last time she'd want to see him, outside of a divorce court. His doubts assailed him like the sleeting rain that had suddenly started.

He entered the cottage and saw her note. She'd taken a hot bath and gone to bed per instructions of her therapist. She asked him not to wake her. She'd taken one of the sedatives she'd received when she was shot so she'd probably sleep for some time. She didn't even sign the note.

He slipped into their bedroom and took out his travel bag and packed enough for a couple of days. He took the bag out and placed it on the floor near the door and then went and took a shower. He shaved and got dressed. He still had 2 hours to kill.

He wrote a note to his wife. More than a note. He wrote a love letter promising to return when she told him 'it was safe'. He told her that he'd wait forever and that only she could end his waiting, either by asking him to return or telling him it was over. He begged her not to give up what they had, what so many people could only dream of, and again he closed with a pledge to wait forever if that's what it took but that she was free to chose another path if that's what she needed to do. Beckman would know where he was.

Chuck walked out to the floatplane waved goodbye to the guard and flew off to Seattle and the NSA aircraft that would take him to DC.  


* * *

_A/N: Several more issues to settle. Problems to solve. People to enrage and engage. One a day provided the  
real life cuts me some slack._

_Armor-Plated-Rat_


	28. Ups and Downs

Flashback25b

_A/N: To all you dimbulbs out there who complain 'it's depressing' or my personal favorite 'It must be easy to write depressing fic' – kiss my Irish fundament. Don't read it. And since most of you whiners have never written anything other than a review, take your thumb and point it up, then make a fist out of the remaining digits. Now stick your thumb back in your mouth and go watch Oprah.  


* * *

_Sarah woke from a refreshing and dreamless sleep. She rolled over, stretching, and reached over to grab her husband for a good morning kiss but his side of the bed was cold and empty. As she got up to dress, she remembered what had happened, his call to her therapist and her impending arrival.

She called out for him and saw the open closet and missing travel bag. She glanced at the clock and walked quickly through the cottage finally finding his letter to her.

She'd asked for time and space and he'd given it to her. She grabbed her phone and called him.

The red floatplane landed at SeaTac and taxied to the government hanger area. The NSA aircraft had not yet arrived and Chuck deplaned, thanked the pilot and went into the operations hanger to ask about the arrival time.

His phone rang and he saw it was his wife. He almost let it go to voicemail but selfishly he needed to hear her voice one last time.

"Bartowski, secure."

"Chuck, please, come back to me. I need you here, with me. I can't do this alone, baby, please come back."

"Sarah, it's for the best. Dr. Foster agreed that it might be better if you really got into the therapy without me as a distraction. I only want what's best for you, Sarah. I love you. Hang on to that."

"That's a bunch of bullshit, Chuck. If you really loved me you'd be here, by my side, seeing me through this, not running away from our problems. What's the matter with you? You're just a coward, Charles Bartowski."

"You asked for time and you're getting it. You think I like this? You think I enjoy being alone? You think hurting you like this is enjoyable for me? And it's not _OUR_ problem, Sarah Walker, it's _YOUR_ problem. I'm the cause and you're the solution."

"Ask your precious Dr. Foster about that! I knew I should have ignored your call but I had to hear your voice just one last time in case you went through with the annulment or just gave up and went back to the CIA."

"Chuck, please. Come back. We can go through this therapy together. I need you here, baby, not out doing whatever you're planning. I'm sorry I yelled at you and I'm sorry I called you a coward because you're not. But I'm afraid, Chuck. What if I can't get fixed?"

"Sarah, I love you and I'll never love anyone else. Be strong and work hard. You are in control and I'll be back when it's safe for you to have me back. I have to go now. But Sarah, if you chose another path, or go back to the CIA, it's OK. I just want you to be safe and happy. Don't worry about me. I'll get by somehow."

He hung up the phone, destroyed by her anguish and begging. Had he done the right thing? Was he doing the right thing? It had all seemed so clear before. Remove the stressor and give her time, space and relief from her destructive and debilitating dreams. Now he wasn't sure.

His phone rang again. If it were Sarah, he'd wait for the therapist and fly back with her. He couldn't bear leaving her in such pain.

"Bartowski, secure."

"Chuck, it's Beckman. The NSA team has identified the various DNA samples found in the Little Cayman bungalow. Chuck, Becky Piersall is Jill Roberts. The DNA matches what's on file. According to prison records she died last year and her body was cremated. This has all been an elaborate ruse to get her close to you, turn you and recruit you into Fulcrum."

"The surgeons who operated on you here and inserted that 'thing' into your mastoid cavity have been identified; records indicate that one of the surgeons and two contract nurses were employed briefly at Eglin and also treated Sarah when she was shot."

"Then that means all these problems, dreams, mood swings, are all a product of an implant like I had? Do you think Foster's in on it? Jesus, Jill Roberts. That explains non sequiturs and images and impressions I've identified but couldn't tie in to."

"Possibly. But for now, you're at risk of capture. The Seattle NSA team has been lured away and is more than 2 hours away. There are no other assets near enough and we can't trust local LEOs. Consider your security force on the island as compromised."

"When Dr. Foster arrives, send her back to DC and return to the island immediately. Go to lockdown mode and await reinforcements. On second thought, don't wait for Foster. Return now!"

The General terminated the call and Chuck called Sarah.

"Chuck! Please I…"

"Hush, sweetheart and listen. Lockdown…repeat Lockdown. I'm returning. Locals are suspect. Lockdown."

He terminated the call and swore softly to himself. The NSA jet was late and he noticed that there were more personnel around the government terminal than were warranted. All his 'spidey senses' itched and he suddenly felt naked and vulnerable.

Leaving his bag, he walked to the main entrance and saw three black SUVs pull up and men in civilian clothes get out and establish a loose perimeter around the front of the terminal. To the uninitiated, it just looked like people waiting around for an arrival but to Chuck, who'd been in such a situation before, it screamed 'danger'.

Figuring he had nothing to lose, he sprinted through the empty lobby and out onto the tarmac. The floatplane had been refueled but the pilot was nowhere to be found. Desperate and very afraid that he'd left his wife in the care of Fulcrum traitors, he climbed into the red Cessna and scanned the instruments.

He'd actually flown a Cessna 150J several times while he was in college but he'd never taken off or landed anything in real time. And this was far more serious than a weekend learning to keep the plane level and basic stuff like turning and banking or playing Flight Simulator in his room in Burbank drinking beer with Morgan. He didn't even know where his Island was. He hadn't been paying attention on any flights. He was so screwed.

He glanced over at the terminal entrance and saw two men with automatic weapons walking toward the floatplane, probably to either secure or disable it. He cursed his stupidity in not paying attention on any of his flights. He only knew that he was safer in the air than on the ground. He remembered his Flight Simulator game and identified all the instrumentation and stuff on the panel. Crossing his fingers and praying, he tried to start the engine. It whined and the prop wind milled and he remembered his sequences from so many years before.

The two men started running towards him just as the engine caught. Standing on the brakes, he engaged the flaps to full and increased RPMs to almost redline and let off the brakes and moved down the tarmac towards a runway. He was about to break every FAA rule there ever was and probably create a few new ones to govern his actions in the next few minutes.

Turning from the taxiway onto the threshold, he turned too abruptly and almost dug a wing into the ground. Jesus, this was so much harder than he remembered from his video game and there was no 'pause' option while he figured out what to do next.

He increased RPMs until the ground speed indicator was at 70mph and then hauled back on the yoke. The aircraft porpoised off the ground and almost stalled and he eased forward and brought the aircraft level and about 20 feet off the ground. He needed altitude and then he'd worry about direction.

Chuck pulled his eyes off his instruments and looked out the windscreen. He was attempting to take off on a runway a large FedEx jet was using to land. He banked sharply to the right and the aircraft slipped and lost altitude and as he over-corrected he almost stalled. He increased speed and kept the aircraft level as he cut across several runways gained altitude. He imagined his radio was blaring with warnings, curses and threats.

He crossed over one of the airport parking lots at 100 feet and felt a little more comfortable. He raised flaps and set a steady rate of climb for 2,000 feet and headed out towards the harbor.

"Beckman, secure."

"General, things are a bit fluid right now. Fulcrum showed up at the terminal and the pilot of the floatplane never showed again and I'm…well, I'm at 600 feet somewhere over the city of Seattle on my way towards the harbor. I could use a little assistance. Like, where is the damned island and how do I get there?"

"You're…flying the plane? Since when do you know how to fly a plane, Bartowski?"

"Since about 10 minutes ago. I don't know how to fly, that's why I'm calling. I got it off the ground but boy is FedEx going to be pissed. Now, I got more immediate problems. I don't know where the island is. I don't know how to navigate and all I have going for me is a cell phone and a full tank of gas. That sufficient Sitrep for you? How about patching me through to someone who can help me navigate this plane back to the island like in those _Airplane_ movies?"

"Head due west and set your altimeter and autopilot to a rate-of-climb of 250 fpm then level off at 3,000 feet. I'll alert Homeland Security that you're not a terrorist flight and get right back to you, understood?"

"Ummm, what's that about an autopilot? I'm already at 800 feet. Heading is crap, wait one, ok, heading is due west and I got company off the right wing. General, hang up and call the Air Force off my ass. There are two F16s trying to slow down enough to 'accompany me'. A little help here, please?"

"Hold on. Someone will be on the line with us and I'm having the Air Guard alerted that this is a 'hands-off' classified mission. Should take only a few minutes."

Chuck was maintaining a steady 110mph and a slow rate-of-climb and the two fighters could not match his speed because they'd stall out and simply fall out of the sky. One advantage to being 'old and slow'. The fighters were taking turns weaving and bobbing around him, generally scaring the hell out of him but so far not making any aggressive moves.

Ten minutes later he leveled off at 3,000 feet and verified that his heading was still due west. His fellow travelers had apparently gotten the word and had broken off pursuit. Now all he had to do was worry about the evening fog and putting this beast down on the water and not in it.

He pulled out his 9mm and screwed on the silencer. He had no idea what kind of reception awaited him on the island and he didn't want to announce his presence if he didn't have to. He tried to remember what the coastline was like nearest the cottage but he couldn't, at least he wasn't sure he had the right stretch of rocky beach. He planned on arriving on the island unannounced and going directly to the cottage.

His phone rang and it was Beckman.

The conversation was short but promising. She'd been in contact with the security force on the island and things appeared to be in order. She'd given him coordinates to enter into the autopilot that would enable him to approach the island but not close enough that any intentions could be discerned. She agreed that the alternate approach was the correct one and assured him that the NSA team would be in place within two hours. She asked about the one thing he didn't want to think about.

"Are you certain you can land the floatplane? It will do you and Sarah no good if you crash into the sea."

"What alternative do I have, General? What goes up must come down. I have almost a full fuel tank but that means only 4 hours of flight time so I'd be landing in the dark. No thanks. Daylight will be scary enough."

She wished him luck and hung up.

He called Sarah to tell her he was on his way.

"Bartowski, secure."

"It's me. I'll be there in 40 minutes or so. The NSA plane with Dr. Foster was late and I wasn't going to wait. I think the opposition showed up since there were guys with automatic weapons and so I took the Cessna and here I am at 3000 feet. You doing OK?"

"Yeah. The cottage is secure and the dock guard called to check on me. Wait! Where's the damned pilot, Chuck?"

"Um, don't know. He wasn't at the plane and the bad guys were coming on to it fast so I just took off. No big deal. Well, Beckman called. Remember Jill Roberts? She was in prison but died and was cremated."

"So? What's that got to do with…shit…she was Alice and Piersall. Shit, shit, shit! She knew enough about us to figure it out. She was trying to recruit you, get you over to the dark side."

He grinned. He loved it when his wife quoted dialogue from sci-fi movies, even when she did it subconsciously.

"Sarah, you're not nuts. You mood swings and the dreams? All caused or made worse by an implant like mine. The surgeon who did my 'operation' also stitched you up. You don't need therapy now, baby . Just need a little operation to take out their booby trap and then let the drugs leave your system."

Sarah was running her fingers through her hair at the back of her neck, feeling for anything that didn't belong but felt nothing.

"I don't feel anything, Chuck."

"Trust me, it's there. Mine had to be big enough to 'be found' and screw up my speech. They didn't want yours found until it was too late. I'll be coming home in about 30 minutes but I'm not coming in at the dock, but on the other side of the island. We don't know who to trust. Just don't shoot me, OK?"

"Just get here in one piece, sweetie. We'll just hunker down and wait for the cavalry."


	29. Rumbling Tumbling Fumbling Again

Flashback

_A/N: All you whiners out there…better you sandpaper the ass of a tiger with hemorrhoids than mess with me today. My bad attitude has reached legendary proportions._

_Armor-Plated-Rat  
_

* * *

The cavalry had finally arrived at SeaTac. The reason for the delay became apparent as combat-clad NSA strikers emerged from the plane and after a short but intense firefight had either killed or subdued all the Fulcrum agents. Beckman had instructed the pilot to land in Salt Lake City and pick up a strike team and then proceed on to Seattle.

There was no sign of the floatplane or the asset they'd been instructed to rescue. After a briefing and conversation with General Beckman and the CIA director, NSA units boarded National Guard helicopters and headed out into the darkening sky over the Strait from Seattle to Bear Island.

* * *

Becky/Alice/Jill was in a rage. The sea had picked up and the progress her fishing trawler was making was putting them behind schedule. They planned to be at the damned island already but the waters between Vancouver Island and Bear Island were not cooperating.

The Zodiac boats were ready on deck and now all they had to do was cover the remaining five miles and land on the rocky beach and assault the security force and take Sarah Bartowski hostage to force her husband's cooperation. She checked the sub dermal transponder and confirmed her location on the island.

The other device was still functioning but was unimportant now. It had done its job, creating a wedge between the couple and driving Chuck Bartowski into the waiting arms of Fulcrum at SeaTac. The Fulcrum agent on the island had confirmed his departure on the floatplane and the pending arrival of her 'therapist'.

She'd dispatched an ambush force to take Chuck prisoner at the terminal. She'd received a confirming call that he'd been wounded resisting capture and was being taken to a secure location for treatment. She told the agent that if anything happened to 'her Chuck' his life would be forfeit. She had no inkling that the agent himself was a captive and was bartering for _his_ life by making the call.

Everything was coming together and as soon as it became convenient, the wife would meet with an accident trying to escape and Chuck would grieve himself right back into her arms and clutches.

* * *

He had the island in sight and now all he had to do was remember which damned side the dock was on. Once more he chided himself for his lack of what Casey called 'situational awareness' and how a lack of it frequently killed you.

He flew down the southwestern side of the island but couldn't see the dock in the dusk. He came north and then northwest and ran along the island shore noting a fishing trawler was following a group of zodiacs that were headed in to the island. They had to be Fulcrum and that meant they thought he was still on the island and that the pilot of the floatplane had escaped at SeaTac. They'd be headed for the cottage and Sarah.

The four zodiacs were pounding through the increasingly choppy water and were almost perfectly aligned for what he had in mind.

He pulled back on the yoke and the Cessna clawed for altitude. At 1,700 feet he brought the plane around in a gentle bank and lined up on an imaginary line in the waves. It was just like Flight Simulator except he hadn't figured out how to stop the game in progress so he could step out for a beer or in this case, jump out. Oh well.

Chuck pushed the nose over and dove at a 30-degree angle at an imaginary point in the sea, pulling up 20 feet from the water and aligning the plane with the first zodiac. He dropped down to about 10 feet and then extended to full flaps and dropped the floats right on the zodiac.

He pulled up to 20 feet and aimed at the third inflatable since he'd overshot the 2nd and again dropped down and hit it with the floats. The Fulcrum agents in the 4th zodiac saw the ruins of the other two and let loose with automatic weapons fire, hitting the floats and wings and fuselage of the plane as it passed overhead.

Chuck pulled back on the yoke again and climbed to almost 800 feet and brought the plane around for another pass but changed his mind when he saw that the second zodiac had made landfall and that the Fulcrum agents in the last surviving zodiac were almost to shore. Figuring he had to land sometime he dove at the last zodiac and again was met with a hail of automatic weapons fire both from the zodiac and from the Fulcrum agents who'd made it ashore.

* * *

Jill ran up the path from the stony beach following the transponder signal. She would accomplish her mission and take Walker hostage and the intersect would belong to Fulcrum and her future was assured. The other agents would handle that idiot in the floatplane.

The engine seized and flames shot out of the ruined engine cowling as fuel and lubricants caught fire. Chuck knew it was time for Elvis to leave the building. When he estimated his altitude at 50 feet he forced open the door and stepped down onto the ruined float preparing to jump when he figured he was 10 feet above the water. The flames reached the fuel tanks and the red floatplane exploded and sank in 100 feet of water leaving only a burning slick of gasoline to mark its grave.

A National Guard helicopter opened fire on the last zodiac and it exploded and sank 20 yards from shore. The helicopter landed and discharged its strike team and then flew to the site of the plane crash to search for survivors.

* * *

Sarah stood beside the fireplace in the darkened cottage. She held her 9mm ready to shoot the first person through the door who wasn't her husband. She heard the automatic weapons fire and figured the cavalry had arrived but knew from Beckman's call that Fulcrum had landed a handful of agents on the island and to expect company.

Jill approached the cottage cautiously. Even though the transponder display showed that her target was in the back of the cottage she was not going to offer herself up as a target. Stepping up onto the porch she tried to open the cottage door and was surprised to find it ajar. She figured that one of the 'loyal' NSA security people had rushed to aid Walker so she crouched down and pulled out her night vision aids and scanned the room.

Even with just the light from the dying fire she could see that the living room was empty so she walked silently toward the bedroom. The transponder display indicated it was the location of the signal.

She removed her night vision goggles and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness and walked without a sound towards the open bedroom door. She reached her hand around the doorjamb and felt for a light switch on the wall and found it. Jill flipped on the light and found an empty room with an unmade bed. In the center of the bed was a pool of blood and a small computer chip with a wire attached. The transponder!

Knowing she'd blundered into a trap she turned to run but a burning pain in the throat made movement impossible. She dropped the MP-5 to hang by its strap and put both hands on her neck, trying to stem the flow of blood from her slashed throat.

"Hello, Jill. Goodbye, Jill. Chuck figured you out and he's on his way here but it'll be too late for him to kill you. You're already dead, just too stupid to fall down. Hurts? Good. That's for Chuck and me, and for Casey and Gwen and for Rebecca Piersall, CIA and for the two NSA agents you killed."

Jill dropped to her knees, still clutching her throat and fighting against the encroaching darkness.

"My husband trusts me. He told me to trust myself and I do. I cut out your damned transponder, Jill, and threw it on the bed to lure you into a trap. You're dying and I'm watching and enjoying it. Chuck and I are going to have a wonderful life together while you're going to rot in a cold and damp grave because even Hell won't have you."

**Nov 5 9pm**

Due to darkness and dangerous flying conditions, the search for any survivors of the floatplane or the zodiacs was halted. All those involved knew that when the search began again at first light, weather permitting, it would be a recovery operation, not a search and rescue. It was unlikely that anyone had survived the attack on the zodiacs and eyewitness accounts had stated that the plane had been in flames and exploded before striking the surface and sinking in 100 feet of water. The Canadian Coast Guard boarded the trawler and the crew was taken into custody and would be extradited to the US for 'handling'.

Sarah Bartowski, unconscious from blood loss from a wound to the back of her neck, was evacuated from the island to a secure medical facility in Seattle to undergo surgery to repair damage done to her neck and to close a 6-inch incision she'd made to remove the Fulcrum transponder. Her mother-in-law stood and watched the surgery to ensure nothing 'happened' and planned to stay with her daughter-in-law as long as she was needed and wanted. Eleanor and Devon were flying up the following day.

The last of the NSA security team left the island by helicopter a little past midnight. The Canadians could have it back. The NSA was done with it.

* * *

Chuck had never been so cold in his life. He'd lost consciousness when he hit the water and had no idea how he got onto the beach. Those minutes or hours were forever lost to him. He realized that he was dangerously close to hypothermia and needed to get warm and dry or he'd freeze to death. He hoped Sarah had a fire going in the fireplace and that she hadn't used all the hot water. A hot shower would go a long way to getting him warm.

The gate was unlocked as was the front door of the cottage. He stumbled in and called for his wife but there was no answer. He flipped on the lights but the electricity was off. He had a nagging suspicion that he was alone on the island. He found the matches in the kitchen and put newspaper and kindling in the fireplace and started a fire, gradually adding wood until it blazed. At least he had enough wood for a few days.

He fumbled his way into the bathroom and turned on the shower and stepped into a lukewarm stream of water. It didn't matter. He shampooed the gas and oil and salt from his hair and got clean. The water was turning cold. The hot water heater must have been electric.

He found clean sweats in his closet and he pulled all the blankets and comforter off the bed and made up a new one on the loveseat in front of the fire. He was still shivering but he knew now he wasn't going to die.

He was trying to figure out what to do next when he fell asleep.

* * *

Sarah Walker had to be sedated when she was told about the probable death of her husband. Natalie Bartowski slept fitfully in a plastic chair by her bedside. She'd talked to Diane Beckman and had been told about her son's involvement in the take down of the Fulcrum assault on Bear Island and Natalie had described Sarah's self-surgery and subsequent killing of Alice/Becky/Jill to an amazed Diane Beckman. Beckman consulted her notes. No female body had been recovered.

Tomorrow, well today, would be difficult. She hoped for Sarah's sake that they would find her son's body and that it had not been swept out to sea by the tides and storm. It would provide her with some closure at the very least.

**Nov 6 8am**

The sea around the island was full of trawlers and salvage boats attempting to locate the small floatplane and its occupant. Search teams were combing the beach looking for his body and had located 3 male Fulcrum corpses but no Chuck Bartowski.

One of the beach team members smelled wood smoke and the small contingent moved inland to the cottage figuring that one of the Fulcrum agents had survived and was holed up there, trying to stay warm.

Chuck was warm and asleep, dreaming about taking Sarah to the Caymans for a vacation when he was rudely interrupted just as he was removing the last of her clothes. An NSA agent and his partner had followed the scent of wood smoke and had seen the smoke coming out of the cottage chimney and slipped into the cottage to investigate.

"Who are you? What are you doing in this cottage?" The NSA agent was brusque and emphasized the question marks with prods from the barrel of his MP-5.

"Well, shit. I suppose you're here to collect for damages done to the Cessna. It wasn't my fault. They shot me down in flames, literally." He'd started laughing until he saw the look on the agent's face.

"My name is Charles Bartowski and you can confirm that with Diane Beckman assuming she's not still pissed about me disobeying her order. And about losing the Cessna. I'd let you use my phone but it seems to have been lost when the plane blew up."

"Any of you guys got any coffee? No electricity and all we have is an electric coffee pot. Any of you guys know where my wife is? No? Then what the hell good are you? Out, out, out! You're blocking the heat from the fire." His one good eye rolled up into the back of his head and he was asleep.

The guy who had prodded Chuck earlier now turned and walked out onto the porch. It was sleeting again and the air smelled like snow.

"Beckman, secure."

"Johnson, ma'am. Call off the search in the Strait. We've got the body."

"You're sure it's him?"

"Yes, ma'am. He says he's Chuck Bartowski and that you're probably pissed about the Cessna."

"What shape is he in?"

"Entire right side of his face is black and blue, the right eye is swelled shut and he's pissed because he has to pay for a damned Cessna. I suggest a medical evacuation since we can't do much in the way of examining him here. He doesn't make much sense."

"He almost never does, Agent. Thank you. Scramble a chopper and get him to the secure medical facility in Seattle."

* * *

Natalie Winstead Bartowski, Sarah Walker Bartowski, Eleanor Bartowski Woodcomb and her husband sat around Sarah's bed planning a funeral with or without a body. They were planning a funeral but so far no one would say the F-word. They were planning a funeral but no one would say who it was that was dead. So far, no one had said the D-word.

Ellie wondered just how many secret hospitals there were in the United States. So far she'd been in 3 of them. This one was small, staffed with competent professionals, well equipped and boasted state of the art computerized support. It had 4 rooms and an ICU as well as two operating theaters. And it was all under the lowest level of a parking garage in Seattle. Amazing.

The corridor lights changed from white to red and back again. That was the signal that an incoming patient was arriving and that all unnecessary movement in the corridors should be avoided.

Ellie watched as two NSA agents in combat gear carried a Stokes litter into the receiving area and helped transfer the patient to a gurney and then move him off to an examination room.

Natalie's phone rang and she excused herself to take the call. Standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall she dreaded answering her phone.

"Foster, secure."

"Beckman, secure. What is the status of Agent Bartowski?"

"She's recovering from her surgery. I can't believe she did that. I wouldn't have had the guts."

"Fine, but I meant the _other_ Agent Bartowski?"

"We've had no word on the recovery operation. We're sitting around Sarah's bed dancing around the issues of his death and a funeral. If I were this group's therapist instead of a participant I'd say they were hopeless. Diane, what do you think the chances are of recovering my son's body? It would help Sarah with the closure issues she's going to have."

"They found the floatplane, what there was left of it. A crane-equipped trawler recovered it and the fuselage and wing were riddled with bullet holes. The windscreen was missing but there were numerous holes in the frame. There was no body and I've cancelled the search due to weather conditions and other events."

"Now, back to my original question. What about the _other_ Bartowski?"

"There is no other Bartowski. He'd dead. Why are you being so cruel?"

"Oh, you mean they didn't advise you? Go to the trauma room, Nat. Take Sarah with you if she's ambulatory and don't make a big thing out of it. Nine lives, Natalie, your boy's got nine lives." '_Payback's a bitch, Natalie. But discovering your 'motherhood', even this late in life is redeeming. Now don't screw it up'._

Natalie hung up the phone suddenly unable to speak. She walked into Sarah's room and unhooked her IV's and monitoring leads and handed her a hospital robe and slippers.

"OK, Sarah, let's go for a walk. There's something we both need to see here. C'mon, sweetie, the walk will do you good. Ellie and Devon can go find some coffee. Let's go."

She carefully got out of bed, slipped into the slippers while Natalie went and found a wheelchair.

"You're too unsteady to walk. Hop in and let's go." Ellie started to object but something in her mother's eyes stopped her and she just grabbed Devon's hand and pulled him out and down to the kitchenette for coffee.

She pushed the wheelchair down the hall past the empty rooms until she found one with a great deal of activity. She stepped around the chair and looked Sarah in the eyes.

"Don't make a scene. It may not be pleasant but it's necessary, Sarah. These things happen in life and you have to learn to accept the bad, sometimes the very bad, with the good. Now, be strong, Sarah."

They had to wait while an attendant muscled a portable x-ray machine out of the room.

"Chuck?" Her voice was raspy from the anesthesia and he almost didn't recognize it. He was lying on his left side because the doctors were concerned about something they hadn't shared yet. He felt fine, just tired. They were doing something to his back and had smeared something on it that deadened the pain of their needles or so they said. He hadn't felt much.

He started to sit up but the nurse held him down. "Agent, you must not move right now. Be still and it'll all be over in a minute or two then you can talk with your visitors."

"Hey, what happened? Why are you in a wheelchair? Are you hurt?"

She looked down at her hands and shook her head. She tried not to cry but couldn't stop herself. It was over at last. He was safe. No funeral. No casket without a body. She looked up at him and smiled her most brilliant smile through her tears.

"I'm fixed, Chuck. No more nightmares, no more flashbacks, no more Jill."

The nurse patted him on the arm. "Agent, we're going to roll you onto your back. You can't lift your head, sit up or roll over for 12 hours. The doctor will have the results back to you within the hour and will discuss any necessary treatments or procedures at that time." She belted him in across the waist to ensure he wouldn't roll over in his sleep.

Sarah's eyes got round and her mother-in-law followed the nurse out of the room.

"Chuck, what's wrong? Are you hurt? How did it happen?"

"Not now, Sarah, please? Tell me about you. Why are you here? Were you wounded, hurt, what? And what's with the 'no more' stuff?"

"I cut out the tracking device and the damned implant and used them as bait to trap your girlfriend and kill her. We won't be bothered any more by Alice, Becky or Jill. She's in Hell where she belongs. The implant was putting drugs into my system making me dream like I did. You were right, I could fix myself and I did."

Chuck felt a flash of anger but let it slide. She was not his girlfriend. She was a murderer and a traitor and should have been executed but he appealed on her behalf and got her a lesser sentence and she escaped. She was not his girlfriend. But he had been a fool to trust her.

Natalie Bartowski waved her CIA credentials in the doctor's face and defined her relationship with his patient and demanded his charts and to be included in any discussions regarding treatments. She did not trust anyone in the intelligence community's medical units.

"Dr. Foster, Agent Bartowski has suffered massive contusions over more than 70% of his body as a result of exiting an aircraft in flight and hitting the water at more than 60mph from an altitude of 10 feet or more. We're being very cautious due to the sensitive nature of his…duties. Our instructions are to treat him like royalty but not to put up with any objections to required care. General Beckman's exact words were 'he tends to ignore physical injuries until he's standing at death's door and lately he's been knocking the shit out of it'."

She laughed out loud. "So why the lumbar puncture? Do you suspect anything?"

"Considering the contusions and bruising and given his previous injuries less than a year ago, we're being very cautious."

"Well, thank you, doctor, and please keep me appraised of any treatments."

Sarah held on to Chuck's hand like she planned to never let go. She was horrified at the condition of his face and couldn't believe he got it when he fell down.

"It's true, babe, I fell about 10 feet into the water and that's the truth. I just bruise easily, I guess."

His mother was standing in the doorway shamelessly eavesdropping. She almost let it go but she couldn't let Sarah think Chuck had just fallen down.

"Chuck, you fell more than 10 feet and you failed to mention that you were going more than 60mph and that you were in a burning plane and you didn't really 'fall' more like you were blown up and out of the plane."

Sarah squeezed his hand hard enough that he gasped and tried to pull away. She realized what she'd done and raised his hand and kissed it muttering 'sorry'.

"Any idea how long I'll have to stay here? I'm not hurt, just damned tired. And I had no choice, Sarah, I had to take the plane or Fulcrum would have nabbed me in Seattle. It's a cool ride, Sarah, I might want to take flying lessons later. Everything was going great until it caught fire. I'd smashed two zodiacs but the other one made it to shore and then I think I hit the last one."

He was overwhelmed with Ellie and Devon before she could hurt him for risking his life flying a plane. She would have been fine since the whole place was in lockdown. She never stopped to think that he wanted to be there with her and share the danger and possible consequences. Sometimes she didn't understand the concept of 'marriage', applying some esoteric definition specific to her current requirements.

Natalie had noted the point of probable conflict and was going to bring it up to Sarah at the first available opportunity. Being her mother-in-law did not preempt her position as her therapist, it just gave her more clout.

**_A/N: You only have to put up with a couple more chapters…be strong…have courage...this too shall pass. No female Fulcrum corpse found? Was Sarah imagining it all? Or did someone remove the corpse? Or a body? Their lives and fate all appear braided together in some perverse manner…_**


End file.
